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WORKS OF 

ANNA KATHARINE GREEN 


I— THE LEAVENWORTH CASE. A Lawyer’s Story. 

4to, paper, 20 cents ; i6mo, paper, 50 cents ; i6mo, cloth, $i 00 

II— A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE. 

4to, paper, 20 cents ; i6mo, paper, 50 cents ; i6nio, cloth, 00 

III— HAND AND RING. 

4to, paper, 20 cents ; i6mo, paper, 50 cents ; i6mo, cloth, $i 00 

IV— THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES. A Story of New York Life. 

i6mo, paper, 50 cents ; cloth $i 00 

V — X. Y. Z. A Detective Story. 

i6mo, paper 25 

VI— THE DEFENCE OF THE BRIDE, and other Poems. 

i6mo, cloth $i 00 

VII— THE MILL MYSTERY. 

i6mo, paper, 50 cents cloth Si 00 

VIII— RISIFI’S DAUGHTER. A Drama. 

i6mo, cloth $i 00 

IX— 7 TO 12 . A Story. 

i6mo, paper --25 

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, Publishers, 

New York and London. 



i 

, 1 



A DETECTIVE STORY 


BY 


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN 

AUTHOR OF “ THE LEAVENWORTH CASE,” “ THE MILL MYSTERY,’ 




NEW YORK AND LONDON 
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 


^nitherbockw ^ress 
1887 




i 


’ ETC. 



COPYRIGHT BY 

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 
1887 

2d. COPY 
SUPPLIED from 
COPYRIGHT FILES 
(MNUARY, 19il. 



Press of 

G. P. Putnam’s Sons 
New York 




7 TO 12. 


A DETECTIVE STORY. 


‘‘ Clarke ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.'’ 

“ Another entrance through a second-story 
window. A detective wanted right off. Better 
hurry up there, — East Seventy-third Street.” 

“ All right, sir.” 

Clarke turned to go ; but the next moment 
I heard the Superintendent call him back. 

“ It is Mr. ' Winchester’s^ you know ; the 
banker.” 

Clarke nodded and started again ; but a sup- 
pressed exclamation from the Superintendent 
made him stop for the second time. 

‘‘ I’ve changed my mind,” said the latter, 
folding up the slip of paper he held, in his 
hand. “ You can see what Halley has for you 
to do ; I’ll attend to this.” And giving me a 


2 


7 to 12. 

look that was a summons, he whispered in my 
ear: “This notification was written by Mr. 
Winchester himself, and at the bottom I see 
hurriedly added, ^ Keep it quiet ; send your 
discreetest man.’ That means something more 
than a common burglary.” 

I nodded, and the affair was put in my 
hands. As I was going out of the door, a fel- 
low detective came hurriedly in. 

“ Nabbed them,” cried he. 

“Who?” asked more than one voice. 

“ The fellows who have been climbing into 
second-story windows, and helping themselves 
while the family is at dinner.” 

I stopped. 

“ Where did you catch them ? ” I asked. 

“In Twenty-second Street.” 

“To-night ? ” 

“ Not two hours ago.” 

I looked at the Superintendent. He gave 
a curious lift of his brows, which I answered 
with a short smile. In another moment I was 
in the street. 

My first ring at the bell of No. — East 
Seventy-third Street brought response in the 


7 to 12, 


3 


shape of Mr. Winchester himself. Seeing me, 
his countenance fell, but in another instant 
brightened as I observed : 

“ You sent for a detective, sir ; ” and quietly- 
showed him my badge. 

“Yes,” he murmured; ''but I did not ex- 
pect ” — he paused. I was used to these pauses ; 
I do not suppose I look exactly like the ordi- 
nary detective. "Your name?” he asked, 
ushering me into a small reception-room. 

" Byrd,” I replied. And taking as a compli- 
ment the look of satisfaction which crossed his 
face as he finished a hasty but keen scrutiny 
of my countenance and figure, I in turn sub- 
jected him to a respectful but earnest glance of 
interrogation. 

" There has been a robbery here,” I ven- 
tured. 

He nodded, and a look of care replaced the 
affable expression which a moment before had 
so agreeably illumined his somewhat stern 
features. 

"Twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth,” he 
whispered, shortly. "Mrs. Winchester’s dia- 
monds.” 


4 


7 to 12, 


I started ; not so much at the nature and 
value of the articles stolen, as at the indefinable 
air with which this announcement was made 
by the wealthy and potential broker and 
banker. If his all had been taken his eye 
could not have darkened with a deeper shadow ; 
if that all had been lost through means which 
touched his personal pride and feelings, he 
could not have given a sharper edge to his 
tones, business-like as he endeavored to make 
them. 

“A heavy loss,” I remarked. “Will you 
give me the details of the affair as far as you 
know them ? ” 

He shook his head and waved his hand with 
a slight gesture towards the stairs. 

“I prefer that you learn them from such in- 
quiries as you will make above,” said he. “ My 
wife will tell you what she knows about it, and 
there is a servant or two who may have some- 
thing to say. I would speak to no one else,” 
he added, with a deepening of the furrow in his 
brow ; “ at least not at present. Only,” — and 
here his manner became markedly impressive, — 
“understand this. Those diamonds must be 


5 


7 to 12, 

found in forty-eight hours, no matter who suf- 
fers, or what consequences follow a firm and 
determined pursuit of them. I will stop at 
nothing to have them back in the time men- 
tioned, and I do not expect you to. If they are 
here by Thursday night — ” and the hand he 
held out with its fingers curved and grasping 
actually trembled with his vehemence — I will 
give you five hundred dollars Friday afternoon. 
If they are here without noise, scandal, or — ” 
his voice sank further — “ disquietude to my 
wife, I will increase the sum to a thousand. 
Isn't that handsome ? ” he queried, with an 
attempt at a lighter tone, which was not 
altogether successful. 

“ Very," was my short but deferential reply. 
And, interested enough by this time, I turned 
towards the door, when he stopped me. 

“ One moment," said he. “I have endeav- 
ored not to forestall your judgment by any 
surmises or conclusions of my own. But, after 
you have investigated the matter and come to 
some sort of theory in regard to it, I should 
like to hear what you have to say." 

I will be happy to consult with you," was 


6 


7 to 12, 

my reply ; and, seeing that he had no further 
remarks to offer, I prepared to accompany him 
up-stairs. 

The house was a superb one, and not the 
least handsome portion of it was the staircase. 
As we went up, the eye rested everywhere on 
the richest artistic effects of carved wood-work 
and tapestry hangings. Nor was the glitter 
of brass lacking, nor the sensuous glow which 
is cast by the light striking through ruby- 
colored glass. At the top was a square hall 
fitted up with divans and heavily bespread 
with rugs. At one end a half-drawn portiere 
disclosed a suite of apartments furnished with 
a splendor equal to that which marked the rest 
of the house, while at the other was a closed 
door, towards which Mr. Winchester advanced. 

I was hastily following him, when a young 
man, coming from above, stepped between us. 
Mr. Winchester at once turned. 

“ Are you going out ? ” he asked this per- 
son, in a tone that lacked the cordiality of a 
parent, while it yet suggested the authority of 
one. 

The young gentleman, who was of fine 


7 to 12, 7 

height and carriage, paused with a curious, 
hesitating air. 

“ Are you ? ” he inquired, ignoring my pres- 
ence, or possibly not noticing it, I being several 
feet from him and somewhat in the shadow. 

“We may show ourselves at the Smiths for 
a few minutes, by and by,” Mr. Winchester re- 
turned. 

“ No ; I am not going out,” the young man 
said, and, turning, he went again up-stairs. 

Mr. Winchester’s eye followed him. It was 
only for a moment ; but to me, accustomed 
as I am to note the smallest details in the man- 
ner and expression of a person, there was a 
language in that look which opened a whole 
field of speculation. 

“ Your son ? ” I inquired, stepping nearer to 
him. 

“ My wife’s son,” he replied ; and, without 
giving me an opportunity to put another query, 
he opened the door before him and ushered 
me in. 

A tall, elegant woman of middle age was 
seated before the mirror, having the final 
touches given to her rich toilette by a young 


8 


7 to 12, 


woman who knelt on the floor at her side. A 
marked picture, and this not from the acces- 
sories of wealth and splendor everywhere 
observable, but from the character of the two 
faces, which, while of an utterly dissimilar cast, 
and possibly belonging to the two extremes 
of society, were both remarkable for their 
force and individuality of expression, as well 
as for the look of trouble and suppressed 
anxiety, which made them both like the shadows 
of one deep, dark thought. 

The younger woman was the first to notice 
us and rise. Though occupying a humble posi- 
tion and accustomed to defer to those around 
her, there was extreme grace in her movement 
and a certain charm in her whole bearing 
which made it natural for the eye to follow her. 
I did not long allow myself this pleasure, how- 
ever, for in another instant Mrs. Winchester 
had caught sight of our forms in the mirror, 
and, rising with a certain cold majesty, in keep- 
ing with her imposing figure and conspicuous 
if mature beauty, stepped towards us with a 
slow step, full of repose and quiet determina- 
tion. Whatever her feelings might be, they 


9 


7 to 12, 

were without the fierceness and acrimony which 
characterized those of her husband. But were 
they less keen ? At first glance I thought not, 
but at the second I doubted. Mrs. Winchester 
was already a riddle to me. 

“ Millicent,” — so he** husband addressed her, 
— allow me to introdi ce to you a young man 
from the police force, ^f the diamonds are to 
be recovered before the veek is out, he is the 
man to do it. I pray ycu offer him every 
facility for learning the facts. He may wish to 
speak to the servants and to— his eye roamed 
towards the young girl, who, 1 thought, turned 
pale under his scrutiny — “to Ph.hppa.” 

“ Philippa knows nothing,” thv* lady^s indif- 
ferent side-look seemed to say, but her lips did 
not move, nor did she speak till he lad left the 
room and closed the door behind him. Then 
she turned to me and gave me first i careless 
look and then a keener and more susta ned one. 

“You have been told how I lost my dia- 
monds,” she remarked at length. 

“ They said at the station that a man had 
entered by your second-story winr ow while 
you were at dinner.” 


10 


7 to 12. 

“ Not at dinner/’ she corrected gravely. “ I 
do not leave my jewel-box lying open, while I 
go down to dinner. I was in the reception- 
room below — Mr. Winchester had sent word 
that he wished to see me for an instant — and 
being on the point of going to an evening 
party, my diamonds were in their case on the 
mantel-piece. When I came back the case was 
there, but no diamonds. They had been car- 
ried off in my absence.” 

I glanced at the mantel-shelf. On it lay the 
open jewel-case. “ What made you think a 
burglar took them ? ” I asked, my eyes on the 
lady I was addressing, but my ears open to the 
quick, involuntary drawing in of the breath 
which had escaped the young girl at the last 
sentence of her mistress. 

‘‘ The window was up — I had left it closed — 
and there was a sound of scurrying feet on the 
pavement below. I had just time to see the 
forms of two men hurrying down the street. 
You know there have been a series of burgla- 
ries of this nature lately.” 

I bowed, for her imperiousness seemed to de- 
mand it. Then I glanced at Philippa. She was 


7 to 12, 


1 


standing with her face half averted, trifling with 
some object on the table, but her apparent un- 
concern was forced, and her hand trembled so 
that she hastily dropped the article with which ‘ 
she was toying and turned in such a manner 
that she hid it as well as her countenance from 
view. 

I made a note of this and allowed my atten- 
tion to return to Mrs. Winchester. 

“ At what time was this ? ” I inquired. 

“ Seven o’clock.” 

“ Late for a burglary of this kind.” 

A flush sudden and deep broke out on the 
lady’s cheek. 

“ It was successful, however,” she observed. 

Ignoring her anger, which may have arisen 
from sheer haughtiness and a natural dislike to 
having any statement she chose to make com- 
mented upon, I pursued my inquiries. 

‘'And how long, madam, do you think you 
were down-stairs ? ” 

“ Some five minutes or so ; certainly not 
ten.” 

“ And the window was closed when you left 
the room and open when you returned ? ” 


12 


7 to 12, 


“ I said so.’ 

I glanced at the windows. They were both 
closed now and the shades drawn. 

May I ask you to show me which window, 
and also how wide it stood open ? ” 

“ It was the window over the stoop, and it 
stood half-way open.” 

I passed at once to the window. 

And the shade ? ” I asked, turning. 

“ Was — was down.” 

“You are sure, madam ? ” 

“ Quite ; it was by the noise it made as I 
opened the door that I noticed the window was 
open.” 

“Your first glance, then, was not at the man- 
tel-piece ? ” 

“ No, sir, but my second was.” Her self- 
possession was almost cold. 

This great lady evidently did not enjoy her 
position of witness, notwithstanding the heavy 
loss she had sustained, and the fact that the in- 
quisition being made was all in her own inter- 
ests. I was not to be repelled by her manner, 
however, for a suspicion had seized me which 
somewhat accounted for the words and method 


7 to 12, 


13 


pursued by Mr. Winchester, and a suspicion 
once formed, holds imperious sway over the 
mind of a detective till it is either disproved 
by facts or confirmed in the same manner into 
a settled belief. 

“ Madam,’’ I remarked, “ your loss is very 
great, and demands the most speedy and vigor- 
ous effort on the part of the police, that it may 
not result in a permanent one. Has it struck 
you ” — and I looked firmly at the young girl 
whom, by my change of position, I had brought 
again into view — “ that it was in any way pe- 
culiar that chance thieves working in this dan- 
gerous and conspicuous manner should know 
just the moment to make the hazardous effort 
which resulted so favorably to themselves ? 
These burglaries which, as you say, have been 
so plentiful of late, have hitherto all taken place 
at the hour the family are supposed to be at 
dinner, while this occurred just when the family 
would reasonably be supposed to be returning 
up-stairs. Besides, the gas was burning in this 
room, was it not ? ” 

- Yes." 

And the shades down ? " 


14 


7 to 12, 


“ Yes." 

“ So that, till the stoop had been climbed and 
the room entered, the thief had every reason to 
believe it was occupied, unless he had notifica- 
tion to the contrary from some one better situ- 
ated than himself? " 

The lady's eyes opened, and a slight, sarcas- 
tic smile parted her lips ; but I was not study- 
ing her at this moment, but the young Philippa. 
Humble as she evidently was, and in a condi- 
tion of mind that caused her to place a restraint 
upon herself, she took a step forward as I said 
this, and her mouth opened, as if she would 
fling some word into .the conversation that 
would neither bear the stamp of humility nor 
sustain her previous role of indifference. But a 
moment's thought was sufficient to quell her 
passionate impulse, and in another instant she 
was gliding quietly from the room, when I 
leaned toward Mrs. Winchester and whispered: 

“ Request the young woman to wait in the 
hall outside, and suggest that she leave the 
door open. I do not feel like letting out of my 
sight just yet any person, no matter how reli- 
able, who has listened to my last remark. 


15 


7 to 12. 

Mrs. Winchester looked surprised, and eyed 
me with something of the expression she might 
have betrayed if I had begged her to stop a 
mouse from escaping the conference we were 
holding. But she did what I asked her, and 
that with a cold, commanding air which proved 
that, however useful she found the deft and 
graceful Philippa, she had no real liking for her 
or any interest in her beyond that which sprang 
from the value of her services. Was this state 
of things the fault of Mrs. Winchester or of 
Philippa ? I had not time to determine. The 
docility of the latter was not, perhaps, to be 
trusted too far, especially if, as I half suspected, 
there was some tie between her and the thieves 
who had carried off Mrs. Winchester s jewels ; 
and while she still lingered where I could see 
her, I must put the question so evidently de- 
manded by the gravity of the situation. 

“ Mrs. Winchester,’' I said, is there any one 
in your house whom you think capable of being 
in league with the robbers ? ” 

The question took her by surprise ; she 
started, and the flush reappeared on her cheek. 
‘‘I do not understand you,” she began; but, 


i6 


7 to 12, 

speedily recovering her self-possession, she ex- 
claimed, in a low but emphatic tone, No ; 
how could you think of such a thing ? It is the 
work of professional burglars and of them alone/' 

I made a slight but unmistakable gesture to- 
wards the hall. 

Who is that girl ? ” I asked. 

Philippa ? My maid,’' she answered, with- 
out the slightest token of understanding, much 
less of sharing, the suspicion which I feared I 
had, perhaps, too strongly suggested by my 
rather pointed inquiry. Or, rather," she cor- 
rected, with some slight show of sarcasm, she 
is what is commonly called a companion ; being 
sufficiently well educated to read to me if I 
happen to be in the mood for listening, or even 
to play on the piano, if music is required in the 
house." 

The chill indifference of this answer stamped 
Mrs. Winchester as a woman of more elegance 
than feeling ; but as that only made my rather 
disagreeable task easier, it would be ungracious 
in me to criticise it. 

“ How long has she been with you.^" I pur- 
sued. 


7 to 12, 17 

“ Oh, a year ; perhaps more.” 

And you know her well ; her antecedents 
and associates ? ” 

Yes ; I know her’; all that there is to know. 
She is not a deep person, nor is she worthy 
your questions. Let us drop Philippa.” 

“In one moment,” I returned. “In a case 
like this I must satisfy myself thoroughly as to 
the character and past history of all who are in 
the house. I have seen Philippa, and conse- 
quently push my inquiries in her regard first. 
With whom did she live before she came to 
you, and where does she spend her time when 
she is not with you in the house t ” 

Mrs. Winchester grew visibly impatient. 
“Follies!” she cried; then, hurriedly, as if 
anxious to be done with my importunities, 
“ Philippa is the daughter of the clergyman who 
married my husband and myself. I have al- 
ways known her ; she came from her father’s 
death -bed to my house. As for associates, she 
has none ; and the time she spends out of my 
rooms is so small that I think it is hardly worth 
inquiring how or where it is employed. Have 
you any further inquiries to make ? ” 


i8 


7 to 12, 

I had, but I reserved them. " Will you let 
me speak to Philippa ? ” I asked. 

Her gesture was one of the utmost disdain, 
but it contained an acquiescence of which I was 
not slow in availing myself. Stepping rapidly 
into the hall, I approached the slight figure I 
had managed to keep in view during this con- 
versation. 

But at my first movement In her direction 
the young girl started, and before I could address 
her she had passed through the doorway of the 
opposite room and disappeared in the darkness 
beyond. 

I immediately stepped back to the lady I had 
left. 

“ Do those rooms communicate with a back 
staircase?” I inquired. 

“ Yes,” she returned, with uncompromising 
coldness. 

I was baffled ; that Is, as far as Philippa was 
concerned. Accepting the situation, however, 
with what grace I could, I bowed my acknowl- 
edgments to Mrs. Winchester, and excus- 
ing myself for the moment, went hurriedly 
below. 


7 to 12, 19 

I found her husband awaiting me with ill-con- 
cealed anxiety. 

“ Well? ” he asked, at my reappearance. 

“ I have come to'a conclusion,’' said I. 

He drew me into a remote corner of the 
room, where, without our conversation being 
overheard, he could still keep his eye on the 
staircase, visible through the half-open door. 

“ Let me hear,’’ said he. 

I at once spoke my mind. 

The thief was no chance one ; he not only 
knew that your house contained diamonds, but 
he knew where to find them and when. Either 
a signal was given him when to enter or the 
diamonds were thrown into his hand out of the 
window. Does my conviction coincide with 
yours ? ” 

He smiled a grim smile and waived the 
question. 

“ And who do you think gave the signal or 
threw the diamonds ? Do not be afraid to speak 
names ; the case is too serious for paltering.” 

“ Well,” said I, “ I have been in the house 
but a few minutes and have seen but three 
persons besides yourself. I had rather not 


20 


7 to 12, 

mention any one as the possible accomplice of 
so daring a crime till I have seen and conversed 
with every one here. But there is a girl up- 
stairs — you yourself called my attention to her 
— about whom I should like to ask a question 
or two. . I allude to Philippa, Mrs. Winchester’s 
companion.” 

He turned an eye full of expectancy towards 
me. 

Do you like her ? Have you confidence 
in her? Is she a person to be trusted ? ” I in- 
quired. 

His glance grew quite bright, and he bowed 
with almost a gesture of respect. 

‘^You could not have a better witness,” he 
remarked. 

The answer was so unexpected, I hastily 
dropped my eyes. 

“ She will talk, then, if I interrogate her?” 
said I. 

It was now his turn to look disconcerted. 

“ Then you have not done so ? ” he asked. 

I have not had the opportunity,” I rejoined. 

“ Ah,” he exclaimed, “ I see.” And with a 
look and manner hard to describe, he added, 


21 


7 to 12, 

Mrs. Winchester naturally kept the girl quiet. 
I might have expected that.” 

Astonished at this new turn, I ventured to 
speak the thought suggested by an admission so 
extraordinary. 

‘'And why should Mrs. Winchester wish to 
suppress any evidence calculated to lead to the 
discovery of a thief who had so heavily robbed 
her ? ” 

The gleam of satisfaction which for the last 
few moments had lighted up the countenance of 
the gentleman before me, faded perceptibly. 

I see,” he observed, “ that our opinions on 
this matter are less in accord than I supposed. 
But,” he continued more heartily, “ you have, 
as you very justly remarked just now, been but 
a few minutes in the house, and have not had 
full opportunity to learn the facts. I will wait 
till you have talked with Philippa. Shall I call 
her here ? ” 

“ Do,” I urged ; “ she is below, I think, 
though possibly she may still be in the rooms 
above ; ” and I explained how she had started 
away at my approach, hiding herself in apart- 
ments to which I felt I had not the right of access. 


22 


7 to 12, 

He frowned, and moved hastily toward the 
door, but paused half-way to ask me another 
question. 

Before I go/’ said he, “ I should like to in- 
quire what word of Mrs. Winchester led you to 
the conclusion that the theft was committed by 
some one in the house ? ” 

“ Wait,” cried I, '' you are going too fast ; I 
do not say the theft was committed by some 
one in the house. I merely speak of an ac- 
complice.” 

“ Who flung the diamonds out of the win- 
dow — ” 

“ Or merely gave the signal that they were 
accessible, and for the moment unguarded.” 

He waved his hand impatiently. 

“ Let us not waste time,” he exclaimed. “ I 
want to know what Mrs. Winchester said — ” 

“ She said nothing,” I interrupted, for my 
haste was as great as his ; “that is, nothing 
beyond the necessary relation of the facts — ” 

“ Which were — ” 

“That the jewels were lying open in their 
case on the bureau ; that you called her from 
below ; and that she hastened to respond by 


23 


7 to 12. 

her presence ; was gone five minutes or so, 
and, returning, found the window open and the 
diamonds gone. As she had left the window 
shut, she naturally sprang to it and looked out, 
in time to see two men hurrying down the 
street. Surely these facts you know as well 
as I.” 

“ I was curious,” he replied. '' So those are 
the facts you received, and it is from them 
alone you gathered the conclusion you have 
stated ? ” 

“No,” said I, “there was Philippa.” 

“ But she said nothing.” 

“ I know, but she did not need to speak. I 
heard her heart beat, if I may so express my- 
self, and from its beatings came the conviction 
I have given you.” 

Mr. Winchester bestowed upon me an ap- 
proving smile. 

“You are all I thought you,” was his com- 
ment. “ Philippa’s heart did beat, and with 
most unwonted emotions, too. Philippa saw 
the person who relieved Mrs. Winchester of 
her jewels.” 

“ What ! ” I cried, “ and you — ” 


24 


7 to 12, 

He did not wait to hear the end of my re- 
monstrance. I say so/’ he went on, “ be- 
cause while Mrs. Winchester was here, and 
before she ascended, I saw Philippa go up. 
She had just time to reach the head of the 
stairs, when the person whose step I had 
already detected crossing the floor above, 
gained the hall — ” 

-The hall?" I cried. 

-Yes. Can it be you really allowed yourself 
to dream for a moment that the thief who stole 
this small fortune came in by the window ? " 

“ Mr. Winchester," said I, “ when I left the 
police station it was with some doubt, I confess, 
as to whether this theft had been committed in 
just the way the man who brought your note 
said it had been. But after hearing what Mrs. 
Winchester had to say — " 

- Mrs, Winchester’s account of this occurrence 
is not to be depended upon,” he broke in 
calmly, but determinedly. - Shall I give you a 
fact or two? The window which my wife de- 
clares she found open when she went up-stairs 
was not raised while she was down here, but 
after her return, for I heard it The step which 


25 


7 to 12. 

crossed the floor above us while we were talk- 
ing together here, went out, not by any win- 
dow, but by the door leading into the hall ; so 
that — ” 

“ Mr. Winchester,” I interrupted, “ do you 
realize that if what you say is true, the dia- 
monds are probably still in your house ? ” 

“Just where I think they are, Mr. Byrd; 
just where I think they are.” 

I began to have a strong notion of his sus- 
picion. 

“ And Philippa,” I suggested. 

Saw what I heard r 

I made no further effort to detain him. “ Let 
us have her here,” I cried. “ If what you sur- 
mise is true, the mystery ought to be one of 
easy solution. So easy,” I could not forbear 
adding, “ that I wonder you felt the need of 
sending for a detective.” 

“You forget,” he observed, “that it is not 
so much the discovery of the thief I am after, 
as the recovery of the jewels. The former I 
might have managed without your assistance ; 
but the latter requires an authority backed by 
the law.” And merely stopping to call my 


26 


7 to 12, 

attention to the necessity of keeping a watch 
on the front door that no one should escape 
from the house while he was gone, he hastily 
left me and went up-stairs. 

He was absent some twenty minutes, during 
which I heard him pass in and out of his wife’s 
room. But when he came down he was alone, 
and his countenance, which before had looked 
merely anxious and determined, now bore the 
marks of anger and impatience. 

do not know by what motive she is ac- 
tuated,” cried he, “ but I cannot induce Philippa 
to speak. She insists she has nothing to 
say.” 

Y ou saw her, then ? I was afraid she had 
escaped by the back-stairs.” 

‘‘ Hardly,” was the dry retort. “ I caused the 
door leading to the rear hall to be locked long 
ago.” 

I bowed in admiration of his caution. 

‘‘No one can pass from the upper to the 
lower portion of this house without going by 
this door; how else could I be sure the dia- 
monds had not already been smuggled out of 
the building ? ” 


7 to 12. 27 

“ And you are positively sure that, as it is, 
they are still here.” 

“ Positively.” 

'‘And that Philippa, although she will not 
speak, knows who took the jewels, or at least 
who it was that entered the room above while 
Mrs. Winchester was down here ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then,” I declared, “ our coast is clear. To 
find the diamonds it is only necessary to search 
the house, and as for the culprit, Philippa will 
find it difficult to keep silence when once the 
law has taken its course, and duty as well as 
honor compels her to speak.” 

He nodded and stood a moment thinking. 

“You would search the house? ” he repeated 
at last. " It is a large house and its places of 
concealment innumerable ; I do not think we 
should recover them by that means — not in the 
time I have specified. Listen to my plan. Mrs. 
Winchester and myself expected to go to a 
certain reception to-night. It is a grand affair, 
and it is desirable that we should be present 
We will go there, but before going I will make 
it known throughout the house that you are a 


28 


J to 12 . 

detective, and say that it is your intention to 
search the house for the missing jewels as soon 
as you can get the necessary assistance from 
your office. This will alarm the guilty, and if 
I am not very much mistaken, lead to the en- 
deavor of some one person in this house to 
leave it. If this should prove true, do not 
hinder the attempt, for that person will have 
the diamonds in his possession, and if followed, 
as you will take measures he shall be, their 
recovery must be a matter of an hour or two ; 
for a man is more easily searched than a 
house.’' 

“ An admirable scheme,” I exclaimed, won- 
dering at an acumen I certainly should not have 
looked for in the wealthy broker. “ I see but 
one flaw in it. If Mrs. Winchester heard that 
her house was to be ransacked in her absence, 
would she consent to go to the reception ? ” 

“ Mrs. Winchester will be in her carriage 
when I make the announcement. I shall certainly 
see to that.” 

‘'Very well, then,” said I, “it only remains 
for me to procure from the police-station the 
man I want for the pursuit you mention.” 


7 to 12, 


29 


I will call there on my way to the reception 
with any note you may choose to write.” 

I scribbled two names on a card. 

Either of those men will answer,” said I. 
“ Let him take his station in the area next to 
this, and when posted there give tke call. He 
will understand. Will the guilty person be 
likely to lead him a long chase ? ” 

“ That it is as impossible for me to know as 
you. I have no conception where the thief will 
go upon leaving this house. To some place 
favorable for the concealment of his booty, of 
course, but where, time and the skill of his pur- 
suer must determine.” 

“ I will just add a line of caution to that pur- 
suer,” said I, and taking the card I scribbled 
a few directions on its back, after which I gave 
it to Mr. Winchester. 

In exchange he handed me two keys. 

“ This one unlocks the door leading to the 
back-stairs, and this the front door of the base- 
ment.” After which explanation he left me, 
and in another moment I heard him go up-stairs 
and enter his wife’s room. 

The programme we had agreed upon was 


30 


7 to 12, 

carried out to the letter. In less than a half 
hour Mr. and Mrs. Winchester came down, he 
looking pale and stern, she haughty and imper- 
turbably calm. The carriage, which I had heard 
drive up a moment before, stood at the door 
and they passed immediately out, but not before 
I had time to observe that she wore the same 
dress I had seen her in above, a rich mauve- 
colored velvet made high in the throat and 
heavily loaded with what I believe they call 
a passementerie of pearl beads enriched with- 
lace ; a species of garniture which in my eyes 
obviated the necessity of any further adorn- 
ment more pretentious than the simple cluster 
of pearls she wore in her ears. 

“ A noble and a dignified presence,” I thought 
as she passed, and wondered if the heart under 
that violet robe beat any faster than her ap- 
pearance betokened, or whether she was indeed 
one of that class of women in whom the ills 
and exigences of life stir but faint chords and 
produce but slight emotions. 

The bang of the carriage door was followed 
by the almost immediate reappearance of Mr. 
Winchester. 


7 to 12, 


31 


“ Now,” said he, to business ! ” And look- 
ing- up the stairs, he hailed, with a glance of 
satisfaction, the descending figure of the young 
man whom we had before met on the landing 
above, and whom he had designated to me as 
his wife’s son. 

Ah, Lawrence,” said he, “ come down. I 
sent for you and Miss Irwin — by the by, where 
is she ? Oh, I see, looking over the banisters 
above — that I might introduce to you Mr. Byrd, 
a detective from the police force, whose busi- 
ness here, as you m^ay judge, is to recover for 
us your mother’s diamonds. It is necessary for 
you to know him, for he, as well as myself, has 
come to the conclusion that your mother is mis- 
taken in believing that the jewels were stolen 
by some one entering from without. Indeed, 
he is sure that not only is the thief a member 
of this household, but that the diamonds are 
still on the premises, and can be found by a 
thorough and systematic search. He is, there- 
fore, going to take advantage of your mother’s 
absence to put his theory to the test, and as 
soon as suitable assistance can be procured 
from the police station, will begin a search that 
3 


32 


7 to 12, 

will stop at no receptacles, be balked by no 
place of concealment, however personal or pri- 
vate. I say this, because I do not wish you or 
Miss Irwin to feel irritated if he is obliged to 
enter your rooms, there being, as you know, 
one or two old servants with us whose feelings 
might justly be wounded if their persons or be- 
longings were subjected to an examination that 
was not shared in by every individual in the 
house. Y ou will, therefore, be ready with your 
keys, and, by setting an example to the ser- 
vants, make the efforts of this officer as light 
as possible. Am I understood, Lawrence ? ” 

“ Certainly, sir.” 

The answer was as nonchalant as the ques- 
tion, which was put with an easy and light 
good-nature, calculated to deceive every ear 
but that of a detective. Indeed Mr. Lawrence 
Sutton — I learned his name afterwards — 
seemed to be awakening from a dream — and 
the moment his step-father was gone, — for Mr. 
Winchester did not linger after saying the 
above, — he turned and went immediately up- 
stairs just as if I had not been standing there. 

His conduct was so unexpected, I paused, 


* 


33 


7 to 12, 

irresolute. This was the man Mr. Winchester 
suspected, I felt sure, and here he was going, for 
aught I knew, straight to the spot where the 
valuable articles lay concealed whose recovery 
and delivery into Mr. Winchester’s hands would 
bring me what I was fain to consider in these 
days of my poverty, a small fortune. Should I 
follow him, or should I trust to Mr. Winches- 
ter’s judgment and wait for him to re-descend? 
The conviction that I would only defeat my own 
ends by surprising him too soon, decided me at 
last to remain below, and, withdrawing into the 
reception-room, I waited, with indescribable 
anxiety, first for the peculiar call which would 
notify me that my colleague had arrived on the 
scene, and, secondly, for the returning step of 
Mr. Sutton. But before either of these sounds 
assailed my ears there came another which 
aroused my keenest curiosity. This was a noise 
of whispering on the floor above, followed by a 
short, sharp cry of joy in a voice I felt sure be- 
longed to the young gentleman I had seen. 
Then all was silence, during which came the 
call without, then a rush above as of hurrying 
feet, after which I ‘heard no more till — yes, the 


34 


7 to 12, 

eagerly expected sound of a descending step 
awakened all my energies, and glancing through 
the crack of the door near which I stood, I saw 
Mr. Sutton coming down with his overcoat on. 

More satisfied than I could say, not at this 
evidence of the truth of Mr. Winchester s sus- 
picions, — for Mr. Sutton had a fine air and a 
countenance which, if it bore the unmistakable 
signs of a life of dissipation, had yet an expres- 
sion that was not without its attraction, — but at 
the result of an experiment which was almost 
daring in its nature, I waited to hear the front 
door open and close. But I had not calculated 
on Mr. Sutton being a gentleman of great cour- 
tesy and many resources, and before I was fully 
aware of his presence, he was at my side, bow- 
ing with extreme urbanity, and holding out a 
chain from which I saw several keys hanging. 

“ Mr. Winchester has requested me to give 
you these. By their aid you will be enabled 
to open every box and drawer that / own. As 
for the others, you must find your own way of 
entrance and examination. I have an import- 
ant engagement out which will keep me, per- 
haps, an hour. On my return I will lend you 


7 to 12, 


35 


all the assistance I can ; for I am naturally as 
anxious as any one that so valuable a treasure 
as my mother’s diamonds should not be lost to 
the family.” 

I bowed and he drew back, taking out a 
pair of new gloves, which, to my unbounded 
astonishment, he stopped to fit on with great 
nicety and precision. Then he moved towards 
the door, but even there he paused and looked 
up the stairs before finally putting on his hat 
and going out. 

“ A consummate actor ! ” thought I, and 
sprang to the window, through which I rather 
incautiously peered. He was descending the 
steps, still slowly, but with more of an air of 
determination than he had shown within. In 
another moment he was on the side-walk, and 
in an instant later was walking rapidly down 
the street. Hurrying from the window, I went 
to the front door and opened it. A man was leav- 
ing the area next door, and, before I turned 
to come in, I had the satisfaction of seeing Mr. 
Sutton’s tall form closely shadowed by the 
most knowing and discreet assistant we have on 
the force. 


36 


7 to 12, 

“ Now for hours of dreary patience,” mused 
I, sinking into a large easy chair near a table of 
inviting-looking books. 

But scarcely had I uttered this thought than 
I sprang to my feet in fresh excitement. Another 
step was on the stair, another presence in the 
room. 

Turning in the full expectation of seeing Miss 
Irwin, I encountered the gaze of an old and 
feeble woman. Surprised, I bowed with re- 
spect ; upon which she immediately said : 

I hear that Mr. Winchester has decided to 
have a search made through the house for the 
diamonds that Mrs. Winchester has lost. Is 
it going to be done to-night ? ” 

“ It will have to be done to-night if at all,” I 
returned with pardonable prevarication. “ There 
would be but little satisfaction in undertaking it 
after any communication had been established 
between its inmates and the world without.” 

‘"Then,” said she, with little or no heed to 
the latter part of my sentence, may I ask as a 
favor that you will make it convenient to go 
through my room first ? I am Mrs. Winchester’s 
aunt ; and I am sure she would not wish me to 


37 


7 to 12, 

be kept out of my bed any later than is neces- 
sary. My room is small and — ” 

Poor old lady ! it was really cruel. I made 
haste to relieve her mind. 

“ There can be no necessity for searching 
your room — ” I began. 

But she interrupted me with prompt decision. 

“ You are mistaken,” said she. “ If there is 
a room in this house which ought to be looked 
into, it is mine. For the very reason that it is 
the last one a detective would examine, makes 
it possibly the very one a thief would choose for 
the purpose of concealment. I prefer you to go 
through my room, sir.’' 

I was astonished and not a little perplexed. 
The old lady looked so determined it was evi- 
dent she was not to be trifled with. But I 
was not ready to explain to her that the threat- 
ened search was but a ruse de guerrCy which had 
already produced its desired result ; and yet, if I 
did not do so, how was I to account for a delay 
that would inconvenience her so materially ? I 
could see but one way out of the difflculty, and 
that was to make a superficial examination of 
her room and her effects, after which I would 


38 


7 to 12, 

proclaim myself satisfied with my scrutiny, in 
the hope that she would be so too. I accord- 
ingly answered her that I appreciated her posi- 
tion perfectly, and that if she would consent to 
it, I would go to her apartment at once. 

She signified that she would be only too 
happy ; whereupon I immediately led the way 
iip-stairs. She followed me up the two flights, 
and earnestly pointed out the door of her room. 
But as I approached it I heard a suspicious 
sound on the floor below, and looking over the 
banisters, beheld the lithe and agile figure of 
Philippa gliding down the stairs to the front 
door. She was dressed for the street, and had 
evidently taken advantage of my position to 
escape from the house. 

Instantly a throng of doubts and suspicions 
passed through my mind. I was the victim of 
a plot, and the old lady was neither so innocent 
nor so disinterested as she appeared. When 
she persuaded me to go up-stairs it was with 
the direct intention of giving Phil^)pa the op- 
portunity to reach the street unhindered. I 
knew it even before I noticed how her feeble 
and panting form filled the narrow passage at 


39 


7 to 12, 

the head of the stairs, necessitating some 
slight rudeness on my part to pass her. But 
rudeness, even to an aged and decrepit lady, 
was of small account in an exigency like this. 
Twenty-five thousand dollars were in all proba- 
bility slipping from my grasp, to say nothing 
of my reputation as an astute and not readily 
deceived detective. And yet, was it now and 
in this way the diamonds were leaving the 
house, or had they already been carried away, 
as I formerly believed, by Mr. Sutton ? Either 
might be true, or, as I had time to think be- 
fore I was half-way down the first flight, neither 
might be true. His departure, and now hers, 
might be equally a ruse to withdraw attention 
from the house and the real concealer of these 
valuable gems ; and, pausing just one instant 
in my descent, I looked back at the place 
where I had left the old lady tottering from 
the push I had been obliged to give her in my 
anxiety to pass. She was standing there 
still, but the look with which she followed me 
was one of ill-concealed satisfaction, and 
though she drew back at my first glance, I had 
time to observe that a smile had crept into the 


40 


7 to 12. 

corners of her mouth that augured poorly for 
the success of any design that I might en- 
tertain. 

Meanwhile Philippa s hand was on the knob 
of the front door, and she would have been out 
of the house in another instant if she had not 
stopped to glance at the hat rack, with the 
deliberate purpose, as I believe, of hindering me 
in my pursuit by appropriating my hat if it 
hung there. But fortunately for me I had car- 
ried it with me into the reception-room, so her 
glance as well as her delay was but momentary. 
Before I was well at the top of the first flight I 
heard the front door close, and knew I had to 
decide in a breath, as it were, whether to follow 
her and so forsake the building and it might 
be the very gems I was seeking to recover, or 
to allow her to go her way unhindered, in face 
of the equal possibility of her bearing them 
away to some place of safer concealment. 

The thought of Mr. Winchester decided me 
instantly. If I failed in recovering the gems 
by following Philippa, I would but lose my re- 
ward and possibly a little of my prestige as a 
detective ; but if I failed in the same undertak- 


41 


7 to 12, 

mg by not following her, Mr. Winchester would 
have the right to reproach me with a manifest 
disregard of his orders. For had he not said, 

Watch who it is who endeavors to leave this 
house after your threat to search it, and follow 
him, for that person will have the diamonds.” 
To be sure Mr. Sutton had already gone and 
was being followed, but if a dozen left after 
him, especially after resorting to subterfuge 
to elude pursuit, would it not be my duty 
to see that they were also followed and that 
with the same care and circumspection I had 
thought proper to have employed in his case ? 
There could be no doubt on the matter ; so 
flinging all other consideration to the winds, I 
gave myself up to the pursuit of this flying 
sprite, closing the front door after me without 
a suspicion but that my first glance down the 
street would show me in what direction she had 
started. 

But neither my glances down the street nor 
up revealed to me Philippa, and agitated by my 
first fear that I had possibly undertaken 
more than I could accomplish, I dashed down 
to the corner, which was that of Madison 


42 


7 to 12, 

Avenue, and looking hastily this way and that, 
saw on the block below the supple and delicate 
form of a female which I had barely decided 
was hers, when a car stopped and she stepped 
aboard and was carried away before I could get 
breath to cry stop! to the rather obtuse con- 
ductor who assisted her. 

Happily the next car was not many blocks 
off, and when I boarded it and found the driver 
a man I knew, I felt that the case was not so 
hopeless as first appeared. With but little per- 
suasion he consented to urge the horses on a 
little faster than the schedule called for, so that 
in a few minutes we had drawn up close 
enough to the car in front for me to see each 
figure as it descended. In this way I was en- 
abled to follow Miss Irwin with more satis- 
faction than if I had got into the same car with 
her ; and as her ride was short, I soon was 
stepping lightly behind her down Forty-fifth 
Street. She did not walk two blocks before 
she stopped, ran up a stoop, rang the bell and 
was admitted. 

I hastened quickly after her, looked at the 
number and paused confounded. Why, this 


7 to 12, 


43 


was a house I well knew ; one which many 
people visited, — though not often on the same 
errand as Miss Irwin, I must believe, — one 
which I had sometimes visited myself ; the 
home of the well-known minister, Mr. Randall. 

Nonplussed for the moment, I stood hesitat- 
ing, when to add to my astonishment a man 
stepped up to me from behind, and tapping me 
familiarly on the back, said : 

Well, what diO you make of it ? ” 

It was Hawkins. 

What ! you here ? ” I exclaimed. 

Certain ! ” he cried, “ and my man, too.” 

It was inexplicable. Fortunately there was 
hope of solving the mystery. 

I think I will go in,” said 1. “ I know Mr. 

Randall quite well. If one or both of them 
come out before I do, follow. I will not be gone 
any longer than is necessary.” 

He nodded and fell back into his hiding-place. 
I rang the bell and asked for Mr. Randall. 

‘‘ He is busy just now, sir,” explained the 
neat servant girl who answered my summons. 
“ But if you will step into his study, he will soon 
be ready to see you.” 


44 


/ to 12, 


I needed no second invitation. In a few 
moments I was ensconced in the cosy back 
parlor, listening to the low murmur of voices 
that came from the room in front through the 
heavy folding-doors that separated the two 
apartments. Of these voices I could distinguish 
two; the heavy bass of Mr. Randall,' and the 
lighter, smoother tones of the young man who 
had brought me his keys in Seventy-third Street. 
Suddenly both voices ceased, and there was a 
slight bustle, then a solemn silence, then — could 
it be the sound of Mr. Randalls voice again, not 
in the conversational tone he had previously 
used, but in the measured accent he was ac- 
customed to use in the pulpit. “ The enigma 
increases,” thought I, and, regardless of appear- 
ances, I crept to the folding-doors and glued my 
ear against the narrow crack that marked their 
line of division. What I heard only increased 
my curiosity to the fever point. At all risks, and 
in despite of all ordinary proprieties, I must see 
whom the clergyman was addressing ; so, exert- 
ing all my skill and no little of the caution of a 
professional detective, I pried the doors the 
least bit apaVt and saw, — what I certainly had 


45 


7 to 12, 

not come there to see, and yet a very pretty 
sight for all that — Mr. Sutton and Philippa Ir- 
win kneeling before Mr. Randall, and that 
gentleman pronouncing over them the marriage 
benediction. 

There was another lady and two gentlemen 
in a group about them, but beyond noting that 
the lady was Mrs. Randall, and the gentlemen 
members of the same family, I did not bestow a 
thought upon them, my whole attention being 
given to the man and woman, whom I had been 
following under so sinister a suspicion, only to 
find myself a witness of the most serious act of 
their lives. 

The surprise of the occasion and the touching 
nature of the whole scene, made me for the in- 
stant forget the diamonds and what my very 
presence in that spot implied. But, when the 
final words had been said, and the few con- 
gratulations offered, the young people faced 
about and I caught a glimpse of the bride s 
countenance, I remembered with a shock the 
gloomy nature of the shadow which surrounded 
them ; and while I could not help but give my 
sympathy to a condition of things at once so 


46 


7 to 12. 

novel and so interesting, I also felt my deter- 
mination as a detective return. For Philippa’s 
face wore not the look of a happy bride, but 
that of a woman who has just dared everything 
that some cherished scheme might be fulfilled 
or some dreadful ill averted. Indeed, there was 
terror in the eye with which she regarded her 
husband ; a terror so mixed with love and the 
light of something like hope as she met his 
glance of triumphant satisfaction, that I felt I 
must probe the matter of the diamonds to the 
bottom if only to solve the mystery of her ac- 
tion, and the motives by which she had been 
governed in this gift of herself at a motnent 
so manifestly unpropitious to happiness and 
honor. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Randall was saying some 
words of courtesy and farewell, and, seeing that 
in another moment his steps might be turned in 
my direction, I pushed to the doors at which I 
was standing, with even a greater caution than 
that with which I had separated them, and fall- 
ing back to my old station on the sofa, I awaited 
with equal interest and impatience his entrance 
and the sound of the young couple’s departure. 


7 to 12. 


47 


Mr. Randall appeared and the front door 
closed at the same time. Resigning Mr. Sut- 
ton and his bride to the care of the man with- 
out, I turned my attention to the clergyman. I 
knew enough of his character and life to be 
certain he had not married them without know- 
ing something of their history and condition, 
and that knowledge I meant to have. 

Some of my readers may not need to be told 
that I, Horace Byrd, was not always on the de- 
tective force ; that I had had my bringing up 
in different circles, and that I was by birth and 
education what is called a gentleman. I speak 
of this here to account for the affability with 
which Mr. Randall greeted me, and his readiness 
to satisfy what, under ordinary circumstances, 
might have been considered a most impertinent 
and inexcusable curiosity. He was my father’s 
friend, and he listened with respect while I 
made my excuses, and opened at once upon the 
subject that occupied my thoughts. 

Mr. Randall,” said I, “ the errand with 
which I approach you is of a most singular 
nature. The couple you have just married — 
pardon me, my ears are good and my presence 

4 


48 


7 to 12, 

here is in connection with that same couple — lie 
under a suspicion of wrong-doing that may or 
may not lead to consequences of the most 
serious nature. What that wrong-doing is I 
had rather not state, since it is as yet merely 
a suspicion from which they may be able to 
clear themselves. But what I will say is, that 
you will be furthering their welfare and assist- 
ing at the unravelment of a most mysterious 
occurrence if you will tell me what you know 
about them, and the causes w^hich led to this 
evidently hasty and clandestine marriage.’* 

“ I am greatly astonished,” were his first 
words ; “ and feel strongly inclined to ask you 
what these poor young folks could have done 
beyond loving each other and marrying in des- 
pite of the pride and ambitious projects of Mr. 
and Mrs. Winchester. But curiosity pure and 
simple is unworthy of a clergyman, so I will 
merely say if they are doing or have done any- 
thing that could be called really wrong I was 
in complete ignorance of it, and that their mar- 
riage is but the culmination of an intention long 
known to me if not to the world and that society 
to which the groom if not the bride belongs.” 


7 to 12, 


49 


“ Now/’ returned I, “ you astonish me. They 
were engaged, then, and you knew it ; some- 
thing which I can scarcely believe his own 
mother did.” 

“ Very likely,” was the quiet retort. “ Mrs. 
Winchester is not one whom a proud man would 
take into his confidence if he meant to make 
what is called a poor and unequal match.” 

Still,” I began — 

Still,” he interrupted, ‘‘ a son should show 
a certain consideration and respect to the mother 
who bore him and who always has displayed, 
as he himself declares, forbearance to his faults 
and sympathy for the weakness that caused 
them. I know all this,” Mr. Randall continued, 
and I agree with you in your opinion ; but 
there were certain peculiarities in this special 
case which offer at least some excuse for his 
action and my sympathy with it. Lawrence 
Sutton was not always a respectable member 
of society. He was a wild boy, an extravagant 
youth, and a more than dissipated man. His 
mother loved him but could not control him, 
powerful and determined spirit though she is. 
Nor had his step-father’s position and enormous 


50 


7 to 12. 

wealth any influence in controlling passions that 
partook almost of the recklessness of the foreign 
fast society amongst which he was more or less 
unfortunately cast. He seemed to be without 
aspiration, and yet he was not shallow, nor un- 
generous, nor mean. His mother, whose 
thoughts few can penetrate, looked on and was 
silent ; his step-father, who had not nature to 
help him to a consideration for his faults, showed 
his anger and threatened to show him his door 
but never did. He lived an outcast from the 
best and showed no prospect of amendment till 
suddenly — it was a year ago — the greatest and 
most startling change took place in his habits 
and general style of living; and from being a 
careless man about town, he became the court- 
eous, careful gentleman, alive to the place of 
honor he had lost in society and active in his 
endeavor to regain it. His mother, always 
hopeful for her boy, naturally attributed to her 
own quiet influence and unbroken faith this 
wonderful restoration to manhood and honor : 
but I knew better ; I to whom human nature has 
been an open book for twenty-five years, knew 
that something fresher and more ideal than any 


51 


7 to 12, 

influence Mrs. Winchester was capable of exert- 
ing had led this young man to reject a course 
which had become almost a second nature to 
him. 

Frequent and prolonged visits at Mr. Win- 
chester’s house did not serve to explain the 
mystery to me. I found Mr. Sutton sitting with 
the family, — something which I had not seen 
him do for years, — but how was I to connect 
this fact with the presence now and then of the 
quiet young woman, without any special attrac- 
tion, whom Mrs. Winchester once rather care- 
lessly introduced to me as Miss Irwin ; and 
yet this girl with the subdued look and meek, 
almost humble aspect, was the force which 
had acted on this man’s nature and turned its 
impulses, as it were, completely about. To him 
^ she was the manifestation of all that was ideal 
and desirable in womanhood ; and from the 
first moment he saw her, as he afterwards told 
me, he made up his mind to win her for his 
wife if it cost him all and every indulgence of 
his hitherto much to be reprobated life. That 
he cherished this hope in his heart and did not 
make a confidant of either of his parents is not 


52 


7 to 12, 

to be wondered at. Mrs. Winchester looks 
upon Philippa as a dependent ; a being too in- 
significant to be regarded, much less admired 
or feared. Nothing, not even the change in 
her son’s moral life, would ever have convinced 
her that this girl possessed influence ; or if by 
any means that belief was forced upon her, 
that it arose from any merit or powers she was 
bound to acknowledge or respect. A hand- v 
some, elegant, worldly-\^e woman herself, she 
sees no excellence that is not linked to those 
qualities, and would rather, I verily believe, 
have seen her son thrown back into his old 
course than owe his redemption to a source so 
insignificant in appearance and out of all ac- 
cord with her own views of what was in keep- 
ing with her son’s prospects and her own social 
position. 

“ At least, this is the judgment I have formed 
of her, and this the explanation which young 
Sutton gave me of his conduct, in an interview 
he held with me. some six months ago. ' She ’ 
— that is, his mother — ^ shall know nothing of 
what Philippa is to me till she sees her at my 
side as my wife,’ was his remark to me at that 


53 


7 to 12, 

time. ‘ And that I look to you to make her/ he 
continued, ‘ when by perseverance and a proper 
probation I have induced this pure and uncon- 
taminated being to trust me with her fate and 
make me what I now believe I am capable of 
becoming, a man of purpose, ambition, and social 
standing/ 

“ Such hopes, such resolution, and such spirit 
in a man of his type and with his record could 
not but enlist my sympathy. A soul which I 
had long thought lost had found its motive to 
better things, and though this motive was not 
the highest, it was high enough to give hope 
for the continuance of the good work to the end 
of all I could fondly wish for him. I therefore 
entered into his plans with cordial interest, and 
though I deprecated his taking any serious 
step without at least acquainting his mother 
with his intentions, I promised and have kept 
my word, that when he came to me with Phi- 
lippa I would marry them, trusting to his own 
sense of propriety and her discretion, that the 
event would be for the honor and happiness of 
the family as well as for their own mutual joy 
and satisfaction. But what you tell me now 


54 


7 to 12, 

disturbs me where I never thought to be dis- 
turbed. They are under suspicion of some 
evil — what, I cannot imagine — and you know it ; 
which means that it is flagrant, and possibly 
makes them amenable to the law.” 

I did not answer this, for I was full of 
thoughts. Could it be that this pure and touch- 
ing story of seemingly true love was destined 
to be besmirched by the shadow of crime? 
Had Lawrence Sutton taken the diamonds, and 
did Philippa Irwin know it ; or was Mrs. Win- 
chester s story correct, and the deed one of the 
common order of burglary ? 

What adds to my concern/’ the good cler- 
gyman went on, after waiting a suitable time 
for me to speak, “is that some folks think — 
some members of his own family in fact — that 
the change in his nature, to which I allude, is 
not so thorough as I have made you under- 
stand. They insist that he still carries on his 
old practices, but more secretly. And they 
have a reason for this ; for whereas, at one 
time, that is, in the beginning of his acquaint- 
ance with Philippa, he used to remain at home 
during the evening, he has for some months 


7 to 12, 


55 


now confined his attentions in that quarter to 
Sunday night merely, going out as regularly 
after dinner as he used to do in his wildest days 
of dissipation. Only he does not come home in- 
toxicated any more, and his eyes, which once 
looked bleared and heavy, are now clear and 
wide-awake, I — I wish we knew where he is 
accustomed to spend his nights.” 

Well, we will find out,” I assured him, get- 
ting up and moving towards the door ; “ and 
though I fear the result may not be all we could 
wish, I will remember your anxiety and relieve 
as much of it as is possible to-morrow. I must 
say good-night, now, for this matter is not one 
that will keep.” And merely pausing to thank 
him for his goodness, I left Mr. Randall and 
proceeded directly back to the house of Mr. 
Winchester. 

My reflections on the way there were not of 
a wholly satisfactory nature. If Mr. Sutton 
and his bride were in possession of the dia- 
monds, there was no telling what they would 
do or where they would go ; separate, possibly, 
and thus put Hawkins at his wits' end as to 
which of the two to follow. If they were not 


5 ^ 


7 to 12. 

in possession of the diamonds, I fully believed 
I should find them at the house before me. But 
that was a contingency only satisfactory to my 
sympathy ; for, if the gems were not with them, 
where were they? Not in Mr. Winchesters 
house by this .time ; of that I could be perfectly 
sure. 

So it was with anything but a light heart that 
I rang the bell this time, and greeting Mr. Win- 
chester’s countenance as before, entered again 
into this dwelling of mystery. 

‘'We have come back,” were his hurried 
words, uttered with feverish intensity. " And 
you ? Have you got the diamonds ? ” 

I shook my head and hastened after him into 
the reception-room. 

" But you followed him ? You know where he 
is ? And Philippa ? What took her out, too ? ” 
" Wait,” I said, " have they come back ? ” 
"Who? Lawrence and Philippa? ” 

"Yes.” 

" No.” 

“ I fear they will not come, then,” said I. 

" They ? Why do you associate Lawrence’s 
name with Philippa’s ?•” 


7 to 12. 


57 


I was spared the answer. At that instant I 
heard the well-known call of my colleague with- 
out, and simultaneously with this encouraging 
sound, the click of the night-key in the door 
proclaiming the return of Mr. Sutton. 

“ No,’' cried I, here they are ; and as I am 
sure they will have something to say to you 
which it would embarrass them to utter before a 
stranger, I will just step out of sight for the 
moment.” And making a dash for the portiere 
behind me, I pulled it aside and stepped into 
the darkness beyond. 

Mr. Winchester made no effort to stop me ; 
he was too much astonished at the sight of his 
step-son entering with Philippa on his arm. 
And I, who, without calculation, had stumbled 
into the first refuge I espied, was equally 
surprised, not at what I saw, but at the quar- 
ters in which I found myself ; for the portiere, 
instead of shutting off a room, shielded a closet, 
and it was amongst a litter of bric-a-brac and old 
pictures that I now drew myself up, prepared to 
listen and to see, since this was all that was left 
to my indiscretion. 

“ Father,” — it was Mr. Sutton who spoke, — ' 


58 


7 to 12, 

will you call mother down ? There is some- 
thing I wish to say to her before I take another 
step in this house.” 

“ But — but no matter about your mother,” 
came in Mr. Winchester s hasty and now deeply 
agitated tones. “If you have the diamonds, 
give them to me ; give them to me quickly, and 
nothing more shall ever be said about them. I 
am not hard on young folks, and — ” 

“ The diamonds ? I know nothing about the 
diamonds,” the other broke in, with an impa- 
tience that was more startling than anger would 
have been. “ What I wish to say is on a 
wholly different subject.” And I judge that he 
turned with a look towards Philippa, for the old 
man’s voice became quite shrill as he cried : 

What do you want to say ? That you and 
Philippa are friends ? That she did not see 
you come out of your mother’s room two 
minutes before the diamonds were missed ? 
That you are a saint and every one knows it, 
and she — ” 

“ Stop!” 

Was that the voice of a man stained by the 
meanest of crimes ? I pushed aside the por- 


59 


7 to 12, 

tiere and looked out. He was standing like a 
statue of wrath between Mr. Winchester and 
the glowing, brilliant, almost transformed Phi- 
lippa. 

When you speak of her,” cried he, letting 
his hand fall on her arm, with the pride of 
triumphant possession, “ you are speaking of 
my wife.” 

Mr. Winchester fell slowly back. It was the 
only surprise, perhaps, that could have taken 
his mind off the diamonds. 

“ Your wife,” he repeated, and his eyes slowly 
traveled to Philippa’s face, as if he found it diffi- 
cult to take in a statement so unexpected. 

Mr. Sutton took advantage of the moment 
to step to the foot of the stairs. 

“ Mother ! ” he called, “ will you come here ?” 

She was already in the hall as he, doubtless, 
perceived, for he hastened back and took Phi- 
lippa by the hand, and was standing thus when 
the stately woman crossed the threshold in all 
the splendor of the rich garments I have hitherto 
endeavored to describe. 

My son ! ” was her first startled exclamation, 
quickly followed by an indescribable murmur, 


6o 


7 to 12, 

as she saw whom he held by the hand, and 
noted the fervor of that clasp, and the expres- 
sion with which he regarded her. What 
does this mean ? ” she asked at length, her 
hauteur battling with an anger that was yet 
new, but terrible in its promise of growth. 

Happiness, I hope,” was the steady reply. 
‘‘ If not, it at least means a better life on my 
part and a less humble and dependent one on 
hers. We are married, mother, and it is my 
wish — ” 

He did not finish ; at that word married y 
the haughty woman, struck in the full pride of 
her hopes and ambitious projects, tottered, and 
before help could reach her, fell, laying her gray 
but queenly head at the feet of her whom an 
hour back she would have scorned to associate 
with herself in any higher connection than she 
did the inanimate objects that surrounded her 
and ministered to her comfort. 

There was a rush, a hurried murmur, a pause, 
then a sudden cry so fraught with wonder and 
yet so surcharged with triumph, that I could 
scarcely believe it proceeded from Mr. Win- 
chester’s lips, till a sudden swaying in the 


6i 


7 to 12, 

bended form of Philippa revealed to me Mrs. 
Winchester lying with the neck of her dress 
thrown back, and on the throat thus displayed, 
a glistening cordon of gems which by their 
brilliancy and size could only be the famous 
and costly ones for which we had been seek- 
ing. 

It was the culmination of the evening’s sur- 
prises. 

“ The diamonds, the diamonds ! ” exclaimed 
Mr. Winchester, and regardless of the still in- 
sensible condition of his wife, he stooped and 
dragged them from her neck, and stood holding 
them out and looking at them, as if he could 
hardly credit his good fortune. 

As for Mr. Sutton and Philippa, they gave 
one startled glance at the jewels, another at 
each other, and then set about restoring their 
mother. 

I was the most thoroughly overcome of them 
all. 

It took some few minutes to bring Mrs. Win- 
chester back to consciousness. Meanwhile, I em- 
ployed myself in looking at her husband. He 
had by this time thrust the gems into his pocket, 


62 


7 to 12, 

and was gazing at her with a half-sinister, half- 
pitying glance. But at the first movement 
on her part he was all attention to her, while, 
on the contrary, Mr. Sutton and Philippa drew 
back as if they dreaded to meet her unclosing 
eye. They might well feel so ; it was terrible, 
and so was her gesture, as, rising from the sofa 
on which she had been laid, she looked about 
on them all. But suddenly, and before she 
could speak, she felt the wind on her throat, 
and, lifting her hand to it, a great change passed 
over her. 

Who — who has presumed — ” she began ; 
but here she caught her husband’s eye, and 
losing her self-possession, felt around for a chair 
and fell into it. 

'‘If you are looking for your jewels,” that 
husband remarked, “ I have them. It was a 
curious freak to wear them under instead of 
over your dress, and then to forget where you 
had put them and imagine them stolen.” 

She lifted one thin, white hand as if in pro- 
test, but her regal spirit seemed broken, and 
her eyes filled with something like tears. 

“ Lawrence ! ” she exclaimed brokenly, “ what 


7 to 12, 63 

have I not done for you ! and this is how you 
repay me.’' 

Mother,” said the young man, with a closer 
grip of Philippa’s hand, “ could you ask for any 
better repayment than the regenerate life I 
offer you ? A year ago I was the shame and 
disgrace of this family ; a man for whom the 
world had scorn and you only a pitying forbear- 
ance. To-day I can walk the streets and drop 
my eyes before no man’s glance ; I am a man 
again, and this — this dear woman is the cause. 
Is it not enough to make you overlook the 
trifling disadvantages which annoy your pride 
but cannot affect your heart ? ” 

But Mrs. Winchester’s nature was not one to 
be touched by any such appeal as this. Indeed, 
it seemed to restore some of her former hauteur. 

‘'Your mother’s love was then insufficient to 
recall you to a sense of what you owed yourself 
and her? My sacrifices, my sympathy, my 
endeavors to uphold you in face of the dis- 
approbation of the whole world were as nothing 
to you. You had to wait till a puny girl smiled 
upon you, a waiting-woman, a — ” 

“ Mother,” broke in the son, this time with 


5 


64 


7 to 12, 

severity in his tone, “ Philippa is a lady ; she is, 
moreover, my wife, and so of equal social sta- 
tion with yourself. Let us not be bitter but 
thankful. For me, an angel has stepped into 
my life.” 

It was not wise, but when was love ever 
wise ? Mrs. Winchester’s face hardened, and a 
reckless smile broke out on her lips. 

“ An angel that has brought ruin to me,” 
said she. What confidence do you suppose 
there can henceforth be between my husband 
and myself since he has found I can deceive 
him, and deceive him for you ? ” 

^‘For me? ” 

"‘Yes; you can play with my heart, trifle 
with my pride, marry my waiting-maid before 
my eyes, never asking whence came the 
freedom which enables you to do all these 
things, or what price your mother is paying for 
the sins her forbearance was not sufficient to 
make you regret and forsake.” 

Mother, what do you mean ? I do not un- 
derstand you at all. What price have you been 
paying for sins of mine ? ” 

She smiled ironically. 


65 


7 to 12. 

It is time you showed some curiosity on 
the subject.” Then, with a side glance at her 
husband, full of bitterness and despair, she went 
on : Did you ever ask yourself where the 
money came from with which I paid your debts 
two years ago, in Paris ? ” 

“No — that is, I supposed, of course, it came 
out of your own pocket. Mr. Winchester is a 
rich man — ” 

And I, his wife, must therefore be a rich 
woman. Well, I may be ; but even rich wo- 
men do not always have a hundred thousand 
francs at their disposal ; and that sum I gave 
you, and you took from me. Where do you 
think I obtained it? Not from him. as his face 
only too plainly testifies.” 

“ Where, then, mother — where, then ? Tell 
me, for I — ” 

But Mr. Winchester had taken a step forward, 
and his face was very white. 

“ Let her answer my questions,” said he. 
'‘You gave your son, that scapegrace, a hundred 
thousand francs, two years ago, in Paris ? ” 

She bowed her head, trembling with some- 
thing more than wrath. 


66 


7 to 12, 

“ It was a great sum,” he continued, “ a great 
sum ! I do not wonder you hesitated to ask me 
for it. He would never have got it, never. I 
wonder that you found any friend willing to 
throw so much money to the dogs.” 

“It was not a friend,” she murmured. “ O 
William ! ” she went on, with almost a pleading 
sound in her voice, “we have never had any 
children, and you do not know what it is to love 
a son. To see him in peril, disgrace, or neces- 
sity, and not seek to relieve him, is impossible. 
Y ou must make allowances for a mother’s 
heart.” 

“ But this money — these thousands — where 
did they come from, where ? ” 

She flushed, and her head drooped, but her 
natural haughtiness soon lifted it again. Rising, 
she asked, in her turn — 

“ Mr. Winchester, why did you send for me 
to-night, as I was dressing for the reception, 
and, after inquiring if I were going to wear my 
diamonds, say it was your pleasure that I 
should do so, and then add, that you wished to 
borrow them of me to-morrow as you desired 
to show them to a dealer ? ” 


6/ 


7 to 12, 

“ Why ? because — •” It was his turn to flush 
now — “ because I do wish to show them to a 
dealer.” 

“ And what has a dealer to do with my dia- 
monds ? ” 

'' Nothing — a freak of mine. I took a notion 
to find out just what they were worth.” 

‘‘And don’t you know?” Her voice was 
very low, her eyes burned on his face. 

“ Only approximately, madam, approximate- 

ly-” 

The glance she had fixed on him, fell. She 
took a step nearer, but did not speak at once. 

“What is it?” he cried. “Why do you 
hesitate to answer my questions ? ” 

“William,” said she, “were it not more to 
the point to ask why I, who have always been 
considered an honorable woman, should resort 
to the subterfuge of stealing my own jewels in 
order to escape the delivery of them up into 
other hands ? ” 

“ Perhaps,” he muttered; “but we will not 
go into that. No woman enjoys parting with 
such gems as these even for a few days.” 

She laughed. “ But a woman does not re- 


68 


7 to 12, 

sort to crime, run the risk of police investiga- 
tion and submit to such indignities as are in- 
flicted upon her by the so-called detective 
agent, for the mere sake of retaining in her 
possession jewels of any price. She must have 
another motive — a motive of terror lest an evil 
greater than these should come upon her — the 
loss of her husband’s love or trust, the — the — 

“ Madam, what have you been doing ? What 
secret underlies all these words ? ” 

“ A little one ; only a little one. William, do 
you intend showing that necklace to a dealer 
to-morrow ? ” 

''Yes, to ascertain its value.” 

"You had better not.” 

"Why?” 

"Because he would laugh in your face. Wil- 
liam, the gems are false — false ; there is not a 
diamond amongst them ; only glass, worthless 
glass ! ” 

He stared at her incredulously ; he tore the 
jewels from his pocket and held them up to the 
light. Their flash and brilliance seemed to re- 
assure him. 

"You are making sport of me, madam. See 


6 g 


7 to 12, 

how they sparkle and throw back the light. 
Only diamonds shine like that. You do not 
wish me to take them away from you. Perhaps 
you fear you may lose them permanently.” 

“ I tell you they are false,” she insisted. “ I 
had the exchange made in Paris. I received a 
hundred thousand francs and these imitations 
for the necklace. Had not the man who manu- 
factured them been an expert, do you suppose 
I should have dared the experiment of wearing 
them as I have done, for a whole year now, at 
every large assemblage I have attended ? ” 

“ Millicent ! Millicent, is this true ? ” He 
looked more than angry, more than dismayed. 
She herself seemed astonished at the intensity 
of the emotions she had aroused. 

“ Yes,” she returned, “ it is true.” And her 
glance took in the face of her son standing 
abashed and troubled beside his bride. “ This 
I was doing for you,” she declared. “ While 
you were seeking inspiration and delight from 
the smile of Philippa Irwin, I was meeting the 
eyes of the world with a circle of false gems 
about my throat, and in my heart the dread of 
such a scene as this, with its worse to-morrow.” 


70 


7 to 12, 


“ Mother — ’’ 

'‘No words now. I have done with you, 
Lawrence Sutton ; let me see if I am to lose a 
husband as well as a son.’' 

But Mr. Winchester was in no mood for 
sentiment. He had flung the glittering bauble 
from him, and was standing with clenched 
hands and working brow near the threshold of 
the door. As she spoke he flung the door 
open, and when she ceased he gave her one 
look, and passing out into the hall, disappeared 
from view. 

She stood still and made no effort to follow 
him. 

“ It is the deception,” I heard her murmur. 
“He could not care for a few thousands so much 
as this.” And then her haughty lip trembled, 
her imperious air gave way, and tottering to- 
ward the door, she held her two hands out in 
seeming forgetfulness of everything but her 
love for her husband. “ William ! ” she cried, 
“ William ! ” 

But her son was already between her and the 
door. 

“ Mother ! ” he exclaimed, “ you shall hear 


71 


7 to 12, 

me. Indifferent as you consider me to have 
been, this debt I have owed you has weighed 
heavily upon me. Of course I knew nothing of 
the sacrifice you had made in giving me the 
large sum you did. I supposed it came, as you 
led me to suppose, from your husband; but, 
even so, it has troubled me and caused me 
many an anxious thought as to how I was to 
repay you. I did not find a way. But to prove 
to you that my remorse did not expend itself 
entirely in thought, I will now reveal to you 
the secret of my absence night after night. I 
am working, mother, working like a slave, for a 
position which, if once obtained, will give me 
support for my wife, and a pretty sum over 
every year for my mother. There is a likeli- 
hood that I shall get it, and if, in that event, I 
allow myself one luxury or Philippa one gew- 
gaw till those you parted with for my sake are 
paid for, then say you are done with Lawrence 
Sutton, but not now, not while there is any 
hope of his proving himself your son, indeed.” 

But the barrier he had raised between them 
by his marriage was too formidable to be over- 
thrown in an instant;, and with some parting 


72 


7 to 12, 

words of scorn she left him, and I heard her go 
up to her own room. 

I hoped they would follow her, and so allow 
me to escape, but they had too much to say to 
each other, too many explanations to make. I 
had to be present at another confidential inter- 
view. Philippa, who, the moment they were 
left alone, had assumed a totally different bear- 
ing from that which seemed' natural to her in 
Mrs. Winchester’s presence, waited for her 
husband’s first emotion of grief to subside, then 
turned to him, and taking his two hands in hers, 
drew him down beside her on the sofa. 

Lawrence,” said she, with a womanly sweet- 
ness inexpressibly winning after the scene of 
stormy passions which had just passed, “ do 
you think you can ever forgive me ? ” 

“ ¥ovg\vQ yotCy my heart’s idol ! What have 
I to forgive you for } The consolation that you 
give me for my past, the hope that you bring 
me for my future } ” 

No, no,” she murmured ; “ for having mar- 
ried you ; for having — ” 

“ Philippa ! ” he cried, lifting her face with the 
tenderest touch, and gazing long and earnestly 


73 


7 to 12, 

into her eyes, “ you are my wife. The holy 
words that made us one have hardly ceased to 
echo. Do not let us mar the moment, which 
can never come again, by any expression of 
doubt as regards the wisdom or the happiness 
of what we have done. Let us enjoy the 
delight of being all in all to each other, leav- 
ing to future hours, perhaps, the grief of know- 
ing that, in seeking our own welfare, we have 
had to inflict disappointment upon others.” 

“ But — but — ” she faltered, '' you do not 
understand. I allude to my marrying you to- 
night, in this haste, contrary to all my decla- 
rations and every resolution I had formed.” 

And do you think I blame you for that ? 
That my heart gave anything but a leap of joy 
•when you stopped me in the hall and whispered 
in my ear, ‘ I am ready, Lawrence, ready to do 
what you so often have urged me to do. I 
will marry you to-night if you say so ’ ? ” 

“ Oh ! ” she cried, and a flush of shame crept 
over her face, growing lovelier with every 
moment that passed till I wondered I had not 
seen at first glance that she was beautiful ; 
you reproach me with every word ; you make 


74 


7 to 12, 

me feel that there is no one less deserving of 
such faith and devotion than Philippa Irwin.’' 

“ Philippa Sutton, darling ; there is a differ- 
ence,” he smiled. 

The words seemed to strike her. She 
looked at him very earnestly for a moment. 

'' Yes,” she assented. What were wisdom 
in Philippa Irwin may not be wisdom in Phi- 
lippa Sutton. But truth is always wisdom, and 
I cannot enter upon our married life with the 
shadow of a falsehood on my heart. At the 
risk of losing your love, of seeing you turn 
away from me never to come back, I must be 
frank with you and open to the very heart’s 
core. Lawrence, I would not have married you 
to-night if — if it had not been for the disap- 
pearance of those diamonds.” 

'' Philippa ! ” 

“ I know, I know I should have trusted you. 
That I should have seen and felt that you 
were incapable of doing so mean and wicked 
a thing as — as my suspicions suggested to me, 
but, coming up-stairs while your mother was 
below, I had seen you pass into her room on 
tiptoe, stay but a moment, and then come 


75 


7 to 12, 

creeping out again, thrusting something that 
glittered into your breast. I had seen this ; 
and though I thought nothing of it at the 
moment I — I did fear and tremble when from 
the back room, into which I had stepped, I 
beheld her come back, walk over to the man- 
tel-piece where she stood for a moment gazing 
at her jewel-case, and then, rushing to the 
window and throwing it open, run out again 
into the hall crying that her diamonds were 
gone and that a thief must have crawled in 
from the street and taken them while she was 
below. For — it is my only excuse, Lawrence 
— I could not dream she had taken advantage 
of that moment’s pause before the mantel to 
snatch the jewels from their case and hide 
them in her own bosom. That would imply 
a knowledge of facts and motives to which I 
was necessarily a stranger. I could only think 
she was influenced in her action by a convic- 
tion that one she loved had done this act, and 
this apparent conviction of hers awakened 
mine ; for she was a woman and a mother, and 
knew, as I believed, her own son well, while I 
was but a simple girl who loved. Yet see, yet 


76 


7 to 12, 

see, she was the one who did the wrong, if 
wrong were done, while you — ” Philippas 
head sank on her breast and the tears came. 

He let her weep for a moment ; then with 
a slow and mechanical motion he thrust his 
hand into his breast and took out a simple 
bracelet made of silver coils and held it to- 
wards her. 

“This is what I went for,” said he, “and 
this is what I brought out. I had seen it 
lying on the sofa, Philippa, when I went in be- 
fore dinner, and my heart coveted it and my 
lips burned to kiss it, and — ” 

“ O Lawrence 1 ” was her cry, “ my bracelet ! ” 
and then there was silence, during which he 
sat with his eyes on her face in a mute re- 
proach, evidently worse to her than death. At 
last she could bear it no longer, and lifting her 
head she gave him one look. 

It seemed to recall him to himself. Grasp- 
ing her hand, he uttered one short sentence, 
but that was full of meaning. It was this : 
“ And yet you married me I ” 

The pallor of her cheek disappeared in a 
flush that made her absolutely dazzling. 


77 


7 to 12. 

'‘I loved you,” she murmured, ''and I 
knew, that is, I had heard, that a wife could 
not be called upon to testify against her hus- 
band.” 

He gave a sudden cry, and his arms closed 
passionately round her. He did not tell her 
that that was an old and antiquated law, no 
longer in force at this day ; he only whispered 
words of love and consolation, and when, ten 
minutes from that time, they left the room and 
I at last succeeded in escaping from my hiding- 
place and from the house, it was with the con- 
viction that I had left two noble hearts be- 
hind me, whose happiness, if not their worldly 
prosperity, was assured. 

Early the next morning I sent a line to Mr. 
Randall effectually relieving him from all the 
doubts I had left in his mind as to Mr. Sut- 
ton’s integrity and genuine change of charac- 
ter. This duty done I thought the story 
ended, as far as outsiders were concerned. 
But it was not so. Scarcely three days had 
elapsed when New York society was startled 
and her business men confounded by the an- 


;8 


7 to 12. 

nouncement that Mr. Winchester had disap- 
peared from town, leaving debts of an enor- 
mous nature behind him and no assets where- 
with to pay those debts. Then and not till 
then did I understand his passionate anxiety 
about the diamonds. To a man on the verge 
of ruin twenty-five thousand dollars may hold 
out the promise of salvation. At all events 
it is a convenient sum with which to facilitate 
flight, and its loss must have been a heavy blow 
to him. 

His wife, whose pride was perhaps phenom- 
enal in its way, never recovered from the shock 
thus given her. When the last load was driven 
away from the house she was obliged to aban- 
don, her indomitable spirit broke, and it was 
a depressed and humiliated woman that at last 
consented to take up her abode with the son 
she had cast off and the woman she once looked 
upon with contempt. 


One Hour More. 


I WAS walking along the Rue des Martins. 
I was thoughtful, for I had just been witness 
to a sight that greatly moved me. My duties 
as a reporter for one of the large Paris dailies 
had taken me to Havre just as the ship came 
in which brought the Communists home from 
exile, and, hardened as I confess myself to be 
to the more frequent aspects of human suffer- 
ing, the sight of those men crowding forward 
to catch the first glimpse of the friends who 
had come to meet them, touched me with a 
feeling that was not unlike compassion. I 
was thinking of them and wondering what 
sort of fate awaited the older men I saw there, 
when a sudden cry from over my head start- 
led me from my musings, and looking up, 
I saw a woman peering out of the top window 
of a wretched apartment. 


8o 


One Hour More, 


She showed such signs of distress in her 
countenance that I at once knew something 
terrible had occurred within, and foreseeing 
matter for my next article, I immediately en- 
tered the house. 

I found myself confronted by frightened faces 
everywhere. All the inmates knew that some- 
thing was wrong on the top floor, but no one 
knew just what. They followed me when they 
saw me determined to find out. The conse- 
quence was that a small crowd pressed behind 
me as I mounted the last stair ; a crowd that 
seemed to awe if not alarm the trembling wo- 
man who awaited me at the top, for she started 
back as she saw it, muttering to herself : 

Mon Dieu / Elise never had so many vis- 
itors before ! ” 

A door swinging on its hinges at the right 
of this woman at once attracted my attention. 
Advancing with small ceremony, I threw it 
open. I found my expectations more than 
realized. On the bed before me lay the out- 
stretched form of a woman, the pallor and fix- 
edness of whose face bespoke death. Not a 
natural death either, for she was dressed as if 


/ 




82 


One Hour More. 


she had just come in from the street, with the 
exception of her bonnet, which lay on the floor 
beside her, where it had evidently been flung 
by a careless hand. Otherwise the room was 
in perfect order, I may even say in holiday order. 
From the work neatly folded on the shelf to the 
small bunch of fresh flowers that adorned a table 
set out with an untouched meal — a meal which 
even in the hurried glance I gave it I saw was 
arranged for two — all bespoke one of those rare 
days of rest and relaxation which now and then 
enter a French working-woman’s life. 

But the dead face on the pillow — what did 
it betoken ? Had murder crept into this hum- 
ble dwelling or was it a suicide I beheld ? In- 
voluntarily drawing nearer the bed, I looked 
at the face before me more closely. It was 
that of a young and pretty woman, and while 
touchingly meagre and sad was touchingly 
delicate also. It was almost a lady’s face, and 
had it not been for the evidence of toil dis- 
played by the hands I should certainly have 
taken it for such. As it was I could not doubt 
that a real working-woman lay there, though 
from the marks of refinement observable in her 


One Hour More, 


83 


dress and the presence of certain choice books 
on the shelf over her head, she was evidently 
a woman of taste and education. 

It is a suicide ! ” I declared, seeing a bottle 
of well-known poison protruding from under 
the pillow. 

'' Of course it is,” murmured a voice over 
my shoulder. Don’t you see what she has 
written on that paper near you ? ” 

I glanced down at the table by which I was 
standing and saw a sheet of common note pa- 
per, inscribed with these words : 

My husband was a Communist and was ex- 
iled. He was all I had in the world, and since 
his departure I have only lived to see him 
again. But I have had no news, no letter. I 
have been patient, however, for I have waited 
for this day. But it has come, and it has not 
brought him. I went to the ship myself and 
looked at every man who left it. He was not 
amongst them. So now I know he is dead. 
That being so, there is no more reason why I 
should live. 


Elise Picard.” 


84 


One Hour More. 


Involuntarily I had read these words aloud. 
A murmur of almost ferocious sympathy 
greeted them from the crowd that had gath- 
ered at my back. The sound disturbed me, 
for my thoughts had flown at once to the ship 
and that throng of pale and eager men I had 
myself seen in the morning. I felt a strange 
inclination to be alone, and shouldering my 
way out past the humble table set so touch- 
ingly with a meal never destined to be eaten, 
I made my way into the hall. 

But before I could reach the stairs a woman 
advanced and laid her hand on my arm. It 
was the same who had given the first alarm. 

“Would you mind stepping into my room a 
minute?'’ she asked. “There is something I 
would like to show you." 

Naturally curious, I followed at once.' 

“What is it?” I inquired, when we were 
shut in an apartment of even scantier propor- 
tions than the one we had just left. 

“ Only some letters which Elise put into my 
hands a little while ago — before — before she 
showed herself so tired of life. You see we 
had been neighbors here, and Elise, though 





[ 





ONLY SOME LETTERS. 


86 


One Hour More, 


she was far above me — she was born a lady, 
Monsieur — was kind to me, and told me many 
of her griefs. I could not appreciate them all, 
for I never was educated ; but I do know what 
it is to love, for I had a good husband myself 
once, and so when she spoke of him I could 
understand. And there was not a day she 
did not speak of him. It was as if he always 
stood at her side. Her very eyes had a far- 
away look, as if she was seeing something 
more than the rest of us did. I used to have 
an awe of her, especially when she smiled to 
herself.’' 

“ It is very sad,” said I. “And did she never 
hear from him after he was taken away ? ” 

“No. She never doubted that he lived, 
though, and would come back. ‘ I feel it 
here,’ she used to say, laying her hand on her 
heart. ' Why else do I live? ’ she would add. 
Only yesterday her face was like the sunlight. 
' I am sure he will come home with the rest,' 
she cried, ' and then I shall know why he did 
not write.' Did you see how she had his din- 
ner ready ? I went with her to market, and 
it was touching to hear her say, ‘ I must get 


One Hour More, 87 

this,’ or ^ I must get that ; he used to like it 
so well.’ ” 

'‘Did you go with her to the wharf?” I 
asked, willing to learn all I could. 

" No, Monsieur. She didn’t seem to want 
me to. But I shall never forget the look she 
gave me as she went out of the door. There 
wasn’t any doubt in it. To my foolish mind 
it seemed to say, ‘ I shall never be lonely in 
this room any more.’ Mon Dieu ! when I 
think how that look must have brightened 
when she saw the poor wanderers crowding 
forward out of the ship, and then have faded 
away to what it was when she came back alone, 
my heart is ready to break.” 

"You saw her, then, after her return ? ” 

"A moment. She came to my door with 
the letters you have there. As soon as I saw 
her I knew what had happened, but I couldn’t 
speak. My tongue seemed to cleave to the 
roof of my mouth. You see, I had been as 
sure as she that he would be there with the 
rest.” 

" Didn’t you say anything then ?” 

"Not a word ; she didn’t give me a chance. 


88 


One Hour More, 


* My husband is dead,’ was her greeting as she 
opened the door. ‘ I looked in the face of 
every one of the exiles as they left the ship, 
and he was not there. I want to leave these 
letters with you ; they were meant for him.’ 
And without looking me in the face she laid 
the package down with a slow stiff movement, 
as if she were already half dead herself, then 
went out and closed the door. There was some- 
thing in her look which told me not to follow 
her.” 

But weren’t you afraid of what she would 
do ? Didn’t you fear she might commit sui- 
cide ? ” 

No, sir. Yet if I had I don’t think I should 
have followed her.” Then as I looked up sur- 
prised the good woman hastened to say : 

'' It is a sadder story than you think. If you 
care to hear — ” 

I did not wait for her to finishT 

'‘Tell me all you know about her,” said I. 

The woman eagerly complied. The facts 
which she gave me, together with a few others 
afterwards gleaned by me from a different 
source, form the basis of the following history, 


One Hour More, 


89 


a history which I am sure you will pardon me 
for giving in my own words rather than in those 
of my informants : 

Elise Lepage was not a beauty, yet in her 
earlier youth, at least, she possessed a charm 
which always insured her the admiration and 
very often the love of those with whom she 
came in contact. Her father, who was a mu- 
sician of somewhat mediocre talent, recognized 
this charm, and in his simple way calculated 
upon its winning her a suitable husband, not- 
withstanding his sihall means and her conse- 
quent lack of a dowry. To him she was a 
paragon, and when, at the close of a long day 
of unremitting labor at the piano, he saw her 
approaching him in a dainty fresh robe ready 
for their usual walk on the boulevard, his face 
would light up with such pride and joy that 
the loving girl who watched him felt the tear 
gush to her eye at the same moment the smile 
rose to her lip. 

They lived in a plain but sufficiently com- 
fortable apartment, and had for neighbors two 
young men by the name of Picard, — brothers. 
These two young men occupied the apartment 


90 


One Hour More. 


above them ; and one of them, the youngest, 
having some taste for music, a natural acquain- 
tance had sprung up between him and M. Le- 
page, which presently involved the older brother 
and Mile. Lepage. The consequence was that 
Jean, the elder brother, fell in love with the 
fresh, charming young girl, and, being himself 
a man of no conventional prejudices — the fu- 
ture Communist in fact — he offered to marry 
her without any other fortune than that of her 
youth and many virtues. The old father was 
delighted. First, because he felt himself fail- 
ing in health and was anxious to see his dar- 
ling’s future secured ; and secondly, because 
he liked this man better than any one else in 
the world save and excepting always his dear 
and much admired daughter. Why he felt 
this extraordinary affection for a man of whom 
he was forced to acknowledge to himself he 
knew but little, he could not have told had 
he tried. Certainly it was not because he 
understood him, for he did not ; neither was 
it because the other possessed attractions of a 
peculiar or marked nature. Jean Picard was 
not handsome, nor was he even gifted in man- 


One Hour More, 


91 


ner or conversation, yet old Mr. Lepage loved 
him and hailed the prospect of his being 
his son-in-law with as much fervor as if he 
were the owner of millions instead of being 
the physician of one of the poorest and worst 
paying quarters in the whole city. He trusted 
him, and that fact, perhaps, illustrates the 
character of the two men. For Jean Picard 
was to be trusted in all matters of the heart 
and conscience ; it was only his head that was 
at fault, or, perhaps, I should say his tempera- 
men*t. He had inherited traditions of the First 
Revolution, and believed absolutely in the 
might of the people. But of this he had noth- 
ing to say in those days, his head and his heart 
being joined in the one wish, the one hope, the 
one purpose, to make Elise his wife. 

The evening which he had chosen to speak 
to M. Lepage — he had never breathed a word 
of his desires to Elise herself — was, as he after- 
wards remembered, an especially beautiful one. 
The moon was shining, and as, filled with the 
joy of a successful suit, he stepped from the 
apartment of M. Lepage, something in the 
quiet beauty of this round and serene orb 


92 


One Hour More, 


touched the poetry that exists with all true 
love in the heart, and drew him, in spite of his 
usually active ways, to a window opening from 
the corridor on to a small garden belonging to 
the concierge. He was looking from this win- 
dow and dreaming of Elise, when his glance, 
which had been mechanically fixed upon a leafy 
retreat beneath him, became earnest, deep, and 
inquiring, and with a startled gesture of sur- 
prise, he bent forward and listened as if his 
life depended upon his hearing what went on 
in the garden below him. Had he seen any- 
thing which threatened his happiness, and if 
so, what? 

H is firm and controlled countenance tells 
little, but his wandering look and the unsteady 
step with which he leaves the window and be- 
takes himself to his own room bespeak strong 
agitation. If we follow him and watch him as 
a half hour later he slowly rouses from the 
deep and troubled brooding into which he had 
sunk immediately upon his entrance, and turn- 
ing towards the door, waits with a look not to 
be mistaken for the advance of the step just 
becoming audible upon the stairs, we shall un- 


One Hour More, 


93 


doubtedly learn from his own lips what it is 
that has disturbed him so deeply at a moment 
he esteemed himself so profoundly blessed. 

Yet is he going to speak? His lips have 
opened, his face has assumed a terrible expres- 
sion, he has even advanced two paces toward 
the door to meet the expected comer, when 
suddenly he pauses. The face he sees before 
him is not the one he anticipated. It is that 
of his brother, to be sure, but it does not wear 
the look he hacj schooled himself to meet, the 
triumphant look that goes with happy love, 
however wrongfully it may be won. The sur- 
prise upsets him, and for a moment the words 
falter on his tongue, then all his manhood re- 
asserts itself, and imperiously beckoning his 
brother to enter, he closes the door and stands 
with the handle still in his grasp, looking at 
Camille. 

You are in trouble,” said he shortly. 

What is it ? ” Then as he saw his brother 
start and uneasily drop his eyes, added bit- 
terly : Have you told her what you are, and 
does she refuse to marry you ?” 

Camille, who was of a fiery nature, but who 


94 


One Hour More, 


for certain reasons stood somewhat in awe of 
his brother, looked for a moment as if he could 
have leaped at his throat ; but he restrained 
himself, and while the veins swelled on his 
forehead and his face grew fiery red, he stam- 
mered : 

Whom do you mean by her ? I do not 
understand you.” 

'' That is not true ; you understand me 
perfectly,” was the rude but brave Jeans 
straightforward response. But if you must 
have names I allude to Elise, the pure, inno- 
cent, high-minded girl whom by arts I do not 
profess to understand you have succeeded in 
pleasing, till, for aught I know, she considers 
you a model of virtue and goodness.” 

'' And if she did ? ” broke in the other im- 
petuously. 

J ean drew a deep breath and stepped 
slowly back. 

I should undeceive her,” he declared, '' if 
by the act I alienated her good-will forever.” 

Camille, who for some cause did not resent 
the first clause of this sentence, started at the 
second, and gave his brother a sharp look. 


One Hour More, 


95 


Mon Dieu / ” exclaimed he, with as much 
wonder as jealousy in his t9ne. Do you love 
her too ? ” 

The look which Jean turned upon his 
brother made that other s weak and selfish 
heart stand still. 

“ I love her,” said he, ‘‘ I will not say too, 
for you do not love her. Had you loved her 
you would have fled from her instead of using 
all your arts secretly to win her. A criminal — ” 

“ Hush ! ” exclaimed the other, with a ter- 
rified look around him that for some reason 
made Jean quail with a sense of apprehension. 
“ Do you want to draw the police upon me ?” 

With a stride Jean advanced upon his 
brother, and, laying his strong hand on his 
shoulders, uncompromisingly turned him to- 
wards the light. 

‘'You tremble,” he muttered under his 
breath. “You shrink, and your face is like 
marble. Mon Dieu / Camille, is there any- 
thing new?” 

With a suppressed cry Camille tore himself 
from his brother’s hands. 

“ Who has given you the right to question 


7 


96 


One Hour More, 


me ? ” he cried. “ I will not have it. I have 
had enough of your spying.” And flinging 
himself violently towards the door of his own 
room, he was on the point of disappearing 
from Jean’s presence, when the latter, with 
another movement of his strong arm, drew him 
back and himself entered the apartment. 

In an instant he came back. His face was 
like stone, and he had in his hand a valise fully 
packed, which he set heavily down on the 
table before Camille’s eyes. 

What does this mean ? ” he asked. “ Where 
are you going and why have you kept your 
departure a secret from me ? ” 

For a moment the stricken Camille did not 
reply ; then he broke down, and flinging him- 
self on his knees, burst forth with the cry : 

“I am a ruined man, Jean; I — I tried it 
again, and this time it will be found out. To- 
morrow, to-night, possibly, my employer will 
look over his books, and — ” 

How much is it ?” broke in Jean, in a low, 
strained voice. 

Ten thousand francs,” murmured the other. 
“ All gone.” 


One Hour More. 


97 


“ Lost at play ? ” 

Camille nodded his head. 

Jean drew back, covering his face for a 
moment with his hands. 

'' I have just that amount,” he said, “saved 
up. Your employer shall have it to-morrow. 
As for you,” he added bitterly, “ I wash my 
hands of you. This is twice.” 

His voice broke, and he hurriedly withdrew 
to the window, as if the sight of his brother’s 
face maddened him. 

He returned almost instantly, however, and 
walking straight up to Camille, demanded : 

“ What were you doing there ? ” pointing 
sternly below. “ This bag shows you intended 
to abscond to-night. Were you bidding her 
farewell or — ” 

He had not strength to finish, but his look 
filled up the hiatus left in his speech. 

Camille faltered beneath that glance. If he 
could have seen a way to escape, his furtive, 
worried look showed he would have availed 
himself of it. But his brother’s eye held him 
and would have the truth. With a gasp he 
broke forthl 


98 


One Hour More, 


I have bidden her farewell. She does not 
know why I go. She loves me and she trusts 
me. I — I would have persuaded her to go 
with me if I could. I love her, I say, what- 
ever you may call it. I love her, do you hear, 
and if I could have induced her to leave her 
father you would not have caught me in this 
box. It was my despair.” 

He stopped. There was something in J ean’s 
face which told him that silence was better 
than speech at this moment. The first words 
of Jean convinced him of it. 

“You are a villain,” said he, “ and the pun- 
ishment of your villainy shall be a confession. 
I hope to marry Elise Lepage,” he went on, 
raising his hand for silence as he saw his 
brother about to protest, “ and I do not intend 
she shall waste her life in useless regrets over 
the loss of one so unworthy as yourself. 
Come, then, and in her presence, if not in that 
of her father, proclaim yourself the criminal 
that you are or — ” 

“ Or what ? ” asked the other, with a wild 
gleam, half of defiance, half of fear. 

“ Or I keep my ten thousand francs and 


One Hour More, 


99 


leave you to the tender mercies of a man whose 
justice, you have reason to know, is stronger 
than his mercy.” 

A cold sweat broke out on Camille’s face. 
He looked at his brother with great staring 
eyes as if he could hardly believe in the alter- 
native that was offered him. Seeing it, Jean 
continued : 

'‘It is three years since the day I first awoke 
to the knowledge that I had for my brother a 
man who had provoked the justice of the law, 
and only escaped by the ignorance or blind- 
ness of those he had defrauded. In those 
three years I have spared nothing, either in 
the way of money or effort, to give you what 
you wanted and save you, if possible, from the 
repetition of your dastardly crime. How have 
you repaid me ? By stealing the fancy of the 
woman I loved, or,” as Camille faintly object- 
ed, “ the fancy of a girl whom you knew I 
respected, and whom you also knew would 
never have given you her regard had she known 
your real character or suspected the shadow 
that hung above you. She thinks you true, 
you say, and trusts you. That means she will 


lOO 


One Hour More. 


remember you lovingly in your absence, pos- 
sibly wait for your return, when return you 
never will. Elise is too fine a girl to be thus 
sacrificed,” asserted Jean, and if I did not love 
her I should still say, ‘ Come below, and show 
yourself to her for what you are.’ Better she 
should suffer this one shock, that in itself car- 
ries healing, than linger on for years a prey 
to a pain of longing that will be none the less 
keen because it will be so bravely hidden.” 

But Camille had sunk before this pros- 
pect. 

I cannot,” he murmured, “ I would rather 
go to the galleys.” 

Meantime, in her own little room below, 
Elise was bitterly weeping. She had loved 
Camille almost unconsciously. Not till she 
saw him about to leave her did she realize 
how deeply he had entered into her dreams 
and hopes. Then the mystery of his depar- 
ture heightened its effect. Though the ready 
tale he told of the fine position which had 
been offered him in a mercantile house in Peru 
was plausible enough, there was something 
in his manner and the fact that he wished to 



‘‘ SHE SAT IN HER OWN LITTLE ROOM 





102 


One Hour More, 


carry her away with him secretly that struck 
an icy doubt to her heart, and, devoted as she 
was to him, she felt as if she would give all 
the world, were it hers, to throw herself into 
her father’s arms and ask him for his sympathy 
and counsel. But that was expressly forbid- 
den. Her father must know nothing of her 
sorrow or her love ; her wilful lover would 
not have it. And young as she was, innocent 
as her thoughts were of wrong or deception, 
there was something in this ban laid between 
her and the father she so idolized, that awak- 
ened strange doubts and fears in her otherwise 
trusting bosom. 

Her room adjoined that of M. Lepage, and 
more than once during her grief and tears she 
had heard his restless foot approach the door 
of communication, as though he were about to 
call her to him. But he did not ; she was so 
quiet he evidently thought she was asleep, and 
finally all became as still in his room as it was 
deathlike in hers. And Elise wept on. 

Suddenly there came a tap, not on the door 
she had been so fearful of seeing open, but on 
the one which led into the hall. Astonished, 


One Hour More, 


103 


frightened almost, she crept to it and faintly 
asked who was there. A woman’s voice an- 
swered. It was the concierge, who handed her 
a small note. Hurriedly lighting her candle, 
Elise unfolded it and read : 

Mademoiselle — It is indispensable that I 
should have a few minutes’ conversation with 
you to-night. It is 10 o’clock, therefore yoiir 
father has retired and your little sitting-room 
will be free. I shall not come alone. 

“Respectfully, Jean Picard.” 

A whirl of thoughts swept through Elise’s 
brain. She felt dizzy, almost sick, but she 
did not hesitate. Opening the door into her 
father’s room, she glided in. All was quiet. 
The good man was evidently asleep. Hastily 
crossing the floor, she gained the little sitting- 
room beyond, and, closing the door behind 
her, struck a light. Then, stopping but a 
moment to regain breath and still the nervous 
beatings of her heart, she approached the hall 
door and softly opened it. A low cry escaped 
her as she did so, the two men standing on 


104 


One Hour More, 


the threshold bore in their countenances such 
signs of subdued agitation.' 

What is it ? ” she faintly breathed, falling 
back with a slow step as they entered. “ Why 
are you here so late? And together?” she 
could not help adding, as her eyes roamed from 
the one face to the other, both so white, both 
so drawn, both so filled with that strange look 
which a woman only sees on the countenance 
of the man who loves her. 

As Camille did not answer, Jean replied: 

“ Mademoiselle,” said he, “ I have come here 
on a very disagreeable duty. I have come to 
hear my brother tell you the truth. Camille, 
speak. ” 

Camille, thus abjured, cast one glance of 
burning anguish at his brother, then in a voice 
so unnatural Elise could scarcely believe it his 
own, exclaimed bitterly : 

“ He wishes me to tell you I am a villain. 
It ‘Is not a pleasant thing to say of one’s self, 
Mademoiselle, but it is true. I am a villain, 
and — and I advise you to forget me.” 

The deep misery expressed in his tones 
shook Jean a little, but he was inexorable. 


One Hour More, 


105 


Giving one glance at Elise, who, seemingly 
turned into stone by the terrible nature of her 
lover’s words, stood breathless and pale before 
them, he said : 

** It is not enough, Camille ; tell her why 
you go away to-night. Tell her it is a flight.” 

‘'You have said it,” murmured the other, 
half savagely ; then as Jean remained un- 
changed in look and attitude, cried harshly : 
“ Mademoiselle, I am unworthy of your atten- 
tion. I — I am no longer an honest man. I — 
have — ” 

“ Stolen,” added a deep, firm voiqe. 

The silence that followed this word was such 
as could be felt. 

“ And you wished to take me with you ! ” 
were the words that first interrupted it. 

" I love you,” murmured Camille in a broken, 
miserable tone. 

Elise turned slowly away. 

“ My father ! my father!” burst involunta- 
rily from her lips, and she held out her arms in 
dumb entreaty to the door that separated her 
from her beloved parent. 

Instantly and as if in answer to her appeal. 


io6 One Hour More, 

a strange murmur arose from that room, an 
inarticulate, almost an agonized murmur that 
struck terror to the hearts of those who heard it. 

“ My father ! ” again cried Elise, and this 
time she rushed at the door and tore it widely 
open. Her father lay stretched before her on 
the floor, having evidently fallen in his efforts 

to answer her summons. 

***** 

It was midnight, two hours after the fatal 
event recorded in the above lines. Around the 
bedside of M. Lepage were grouped a physi- 
cian, a pciest, the concierge, Jean Picard, and 
his daughter. Camille was already far away. 

The physician had given them no hope. In 
an hour or less the poor musician’s soul would 
be far away. He was sensible of it himself. 
Upon his first return to consciousness he had 
said : 

This is death.” 

Elise, overwhelmed as she was, could not 
weep. Her one thought seemed to be : “Sup- 
posing I had listened to Camille’s entreaties, 
and had been flying from Paris in this terrible 
hour!” 


One Hour More. 107 

Jean Picard, on the contrary, shed more 
than one tear. Perhaps the restraint he had 
put upon himself in the tragic scene which had 
preceded this catastrophe was having its re- 
venge upon him now, or perhaps the look of 
peace with which the old man surveyed him 
and his daughter, standing, as they were, side 
by side, struck him by its contrast to the sad 
reality. It was midnight, as I have said, and 
the clock was striking. As it ceased, the dying 
man spoke : 

'' May I not see your two hands joined ? ’’ 
he asked, gazing tenderly at Jean and 
Elise. 

As though a thunderbolt had fallen at her 
feet, Elise started and fell back. Jean hastily 
cleared the room and then leading her gently 
up to the bedside, he said solemnly : 

“ Mademoiselle, you must pardon your 
father. Three hours ago I had the honor to 
ask of him your hand in marriage, and he had 
the goodness to accord it to me. He does 
not know that we have had no conversation 
on this matter since, and that therefore such 
words must fall upon you with a shock.” 


io8 One Hour More, 

'' Did you — were you — ” she stammered, 
“ thinking of this when you — ” 

“Mademoiselle,” interrupted Jean, “what- 
ever I have ever done or said has been more 
for your sake than my own; believe that.” 
And he threw a glance at M. Lepage which 
she could not fail to understand. 

Hiding her face in her hands, Elise knelt 
by the bedside. She could feel her father’s 
hand fall on her head, caressingly, linger- 
ingly. In a minute more she heard him say : 

“ He is a good man ; you will marry him, 
Elise ? ” Then as she did not answer, he 
added softly, “ I should die so happy.” 

With a spring she stood upright. “Jean 
Picard,” she said, “do you wish me for your 
wife ? ” 

A great light which she could not help 
noticing in that solemn hour settled slowly 
over all his face. 

“ There is nothing I wish so much,” he 
answered; “it has been my dream for months.'* 

“After what you know of my heart?” she 
murmured, but so low the dying man could 
not hear her. 


One Hour More. 109 

Elise,” was the equally low answer, I do 
not expect you to love me just yet, but you 
need a protector ; let me be that protector. 
You need some one to comfort you and pro- 
vide you with a home ; let me be that friend, 
and I will trust my love to make you satisfied 
in the end.” 

'‘You are a good man,” she murmured, in 
unconscious repetition of her father’s words ; 
and, scarcely knowing what she did, she laid 
her hand in his, seeing more clearly the smile 
that parted her poor father s lips at the action 
than the solemn look above with which Jean 
Picard accepted the trust thus imparted to 
him. 

And so it was that Elise Lepage became 
the wife of Jean Picard, and a tragedy of the 
heart was begun which ended, as we have seen, 
in her death. For Elise was a conscientious 
woman, and once married set all her hopes on 
the prospect of some day becoming as much 
a wife in heart as she was now in name. But 
that heart was at first too sore with the vio- 
lent wrench it had sustained to experience 
much beyond gratitude, and months rolled by 


no 


One Hour More, 


without Jean Picard discovering in his young 
wife’s studiously kind manner any token of 
that passion which informed his own life. Yet 
the germ if not the flower of it was in her 
breast. Unconsciously to herself her husband 
was becoming all in all to her, but the feeling 
she experienced for him was so different from 
that she had given to his unworthy brother 
that she did not recognize it for what it was, 
and called it simply friendship. 

The stirring events of the war and the 
opening days of the Commune did not alter 
matters. A numbness seemed to settle upon 
Elise as she saw her husband gradually iden- 
tifying himself with a cause she both mis- 
trusted and feared. That her coldness drove 
him into the savage warfare of the barricades 
she did not think. She knew him well enough 
to perceive that, however it was with others, 
with him it was a matter of conscience to up- 
hold what he called the rights of the people 
And perceiving this, she did not lose her re- 
spect for him, though her terrors accumulated 
and an element of dread came into her regard 
for him which caused her less and less to sus- 


One Hour More. 1 1 1 

pect the true nature of the emotions he in- 
spired. ' 

Nor did the culmination of his career and 
his subsequent downfall fully awaken her. 
Like a dream the dreadful days passed in 
which he was tried, condemned, and sentenced 
to exile ; like a dream came the time of part- 
ing. And not till she felt herself torn from 
his clasping arms did she realize that life was 
ending for her, that the moment of death had 
come and she had never told him she loved 
him. Making a vigorous effort, for her senses 
seemed to be leaving her, she turned, all 
tremulous with passionate feeling, and hold- 
ing out her arms to him, was about to utter 
what would have illumined his exile, when 
doubt, that black shadow of the soul, glided 
again across her spirit, and, saying to herself, 
“ ’Tis but a boundless regret at the loss of his 
goodness,” she permitted herself only to cry: 

“Good-by, Jean. I will be true to you in 
your absence, and work if need be with my 
own hands, to sustain myself till you come 
back.” 

His sad smile told her, when too late, what 


II2 


One Hour More, 


she had done, or rather had omitted to 
do. 

The memory of that smile never left her. 
It haunted her day and night. The struggle 
into which she was forced for her daily 
bread only served to perpetuate her remorse. 
From a somewhat practical woman she be- 
came a dreamer of dreams. All her soul 
centred in the one wish, the one hope of 
seeing him again, if only to whisper in his 
ear the truth that was every day becoming 
more and more apparent in her own heart. 
She dared not write it to him. The first 
few dutiful letters she had sent had never 
been answered, and she was of a temperament 
that made it impossible for her to risk the 
chance of her heart’s story falling into alien or 
unsympathetic hands. But she could not en- 
tirely smother her desire for utterance. So 
the letters came to be written, which, though 
never sent, contained the beatings of her 
heart through that long and dreary separation, 
letters which she evidently fully expected 
would meet his eyes, and tell him in sweetest 
language what her own tongue had failed 


07 ie Hour More. 


13 


to do on that memorable day of their part- 
ing. 

But hope cherished to the last, went sud- 
denly out like a candle extinguished. The 
ship which was to bring the exiles home ar- 
rived in safety, and she saw it and saw them, 
but did not see him. The blow was fatal. 
Without asking a question, or doubting the 
doom which had fallen upon him and there- 
fore upon her, she returned home and put, as 
we have seen, a desperate end to her own life. 
Love long repressed had had its full revenge. 
She could not live without its object. 

Such was the story of Elise Picard, told me 
in substance by the good woman who had 
befriended her and in detail by the letters she 
had left behind her in this same woman’s 
charge. I had scarcely reached the end, that 
is, had scarcely laid the last letter down, when 
a sudden hubbub rose in the hall without, fol- 
lowed by a pitiful low moan which somehow 
or other awoke in me a peculiar apprehension. 
Springing to the door I flung it open. Never 
shall I forget the picture that met my eyes. 
Frozen each in his place by some great emo- 


1 14 


One Hour More, 


tion, the eager crowd before me stood silent, 
aghast, gazing at a figure that, emaciated 
almost beyond the semblance of a man, 
crouched against the wall which led towards 
the room of death. 

The hush, the intolerable anguish expressed 
by that form, bent almost double by the sud- 
den weight of woe which had fallen upon it, 
touched me to the quick. Grasping the hand 
of the first person I could reach, I asked : . 

“ Who is he ? What does this mean ? ” 

But I did not need an answer to my ques- 
tion ; I knew without words that Jean Picard 
stood before me. 

I learned afterwards that he was among the 
men that passed before her eyes on the wharf, 
but he was so changed by disease and grief 
she had not recognized him. He had been 
spending the last two hours in a search for her. 


LEAg’ll 



G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 

fcnicftccbocFicr 

1887 


THE KNICKERBOCKER SERIES 

OF 

CHOICE AMERICAN NOVELS. 


Price per Volume: Paper, 50 cents; Cloth, $1. 


I. THE LEAVENWORTH CASE. By Anna Katharine (ireen. 

II. A MAN ’S A MAN FOR A’ THAT. 

III. THE BRETON MILLS; A Romance of New Eng* 

land Life. By Charles J. Bellamy. 

IV. CUPID AND THE SPHYNX. By Harford Flemming. 

V. A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE. By Anna Katharine 
Green. 

VI. THE HEART OF IT : A Romance of East and West. 

By William O. Stoddard. 

VII. UNCLE JACK’S EXECUTORS. By Annette Lucille 
Noble. 

VIII. THE STRANDED SHIP ; A Story of Sea and Shore. 

By L. Clarke Davis. 

IX. NESTLENOOK. By Leonard Kip. 

X. MR. PERKINS’ DAUGHTER; An International 
Novel. By the Marchioness Clara Lanza. 

XI. GYPSIE. By Minnie E. Kenney. 

XII. EUNICE LATHROP, SPINSTER. By Annette Lucille 
Noble. 

Xlli. THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES. By Anna Katharine 
Green. 

XIV. HAND AND RING. With Illustrations. By Anna Katharine 
Green. 

XV. THE BASSETT CLAIM : A Story of Life in Washing. 

ton. By Henry R. Elliot. 

XVI. THE MILL MYSTERY. By Anna K. Green. 

XVII. THE STORY OF KENNETT. By Bayard Tayler. 

XVIII. HANNAH THURSTON: A Story of American Life. 

By Bayard Taylor. 

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, 27 & 39 W. 33d St., New York. 


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UNITED STATES MAIL STEAMERS. 



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OFFICE, No. 29 BROADWAY, 


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